


Belonging

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: In a society where supernatural creatures have been brought under human control, there's not much use for the Slayer anymore. She's lost her purpose, lost her confidence... but gained a new vampire slave, who just might be able to remind her who she once was.





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you really have to go so soon?”

 

Buffy’s arms tightened unconsciously around her sister as they stood in the doorway. Dawn’s bags were on the floor at her feet, the single garment bag and carry-on that she had brought with her for her weekend visit to her sister and her husband.

 

“You know finals start Tuesday,” Dawn reminded her, her green eyes large and sad as she took in her sister’s demeanor – so subdued and self-conscious…and so very different from the girl she had once been. “You know,” she added hesitantly, already anticipating the answer before she asked the question – the same answer Buffy gave her every time she asked – which was every time she saw her.

 

“You could just come back _with_ me. You know I’m living off campus now, and my new apartment is huge, Buffy. There’s plenty of room if you just wanna…you know… get away for a little while?”

 

Buffy fought back the tears that rose in her eyes, determined not to let her little sister – as she still thought of her, despite the fact that Dawn towered a good six inches over her by now – see how lonely, unhappy and uncertain she was…how badly she wanted to accept her offer.

 

“No, Dawnie, don’t be silly. I’m fine. I just…miss you…is all,” Buffy said, forcing a smile.

 

Dawn frowned, a familiar smoldering anger rising in her eyes as she watched her sister’s pathetic attempt to convince her that everything was all right.

 

Everything was _not_ all right – had not been for a very long time.

 

If Dawn had had any idea five years ago of the terrible turn Buffy’s life was about to make, she would have warned her. Not that she would have listened – Dawn had only been fourteen years old, and Buffy had seen her as nothing more than a child.

 

And Riley Finn had seemed to Buffy like the best thing that had ever happened to her. He was sweet, and thoughtful, and paid attention to her, treated her like she was his entire world.  And most of all…he was _normal_.

 

Buffy had been in love before, with someone very decidedly _not_ normal…and they all knew that had not turned out so well. Since then, she had increasingly sought what she thought of as a “normal” life. At first it had thrown her when she had found out that Riley was actually a secret commando guy with a government agency, but when she thought about it, the fact that that secret government agency was a group of monster hunters seemed to work out perfectly for her.

 

She was the Slayer. Normal only went so far for her, no matter how hard she tried.

 

When the Initiative had fallen apart around them, she had been so proud of Riley when he had struggled up through the rubble of the life he had built for himself, and presented himself and his at that point meager achievements to those in charge, asking for the opportunity to attempt to try it again – his way. He had some ideas that had seemed quite radical, but he had presented himself well, and the government officials had actually listened and given the farm boy from Iowa a chance.

 

After all, he was one of the few who had actually kept the whole Initiative massacre from being much, much worse – as they were only too aware that it could have been.

 

One of his more radical ideas, which took a little longer than most to actually accomplish, was to go public. Riley seemed to think that the public would be in less danger if they actually knew that they were in danger at all. With Buffy at his side and the help of a group of soldiers placed under his command, he had spent some time gathering evidence and statistics, hard-core proof of what really went on behind the cover stories of people dying from “throat hemorrhages” and explained-away disappearances.

 

After a year or two, building up a rather impressive resume and experience, Riley had received the opportunity to take his evidence and his ideas before the President. It had taken some convincing -- but not as much as it would have taken had the President’s own mother not succumbed to death by an “unexplained throat hemorrhage” that had looked to his eyes suspiciously like a bite mark, only weeks before their meeting.

 

Buffy remembered clearly the day that the monsters she had secretly kept at bay for years became public knowledge. It was the biggest news story of the year, the revelation of the truth behind the strange occurrences that had been going on for so long, not only in Sunnydale, but throughout the country. For weeks, it was all that was talked about on news programs, talk shows, radio programs.

 

There were exposes revealing the truth behind the deaths of certain public figures who had died in very unnatural ways; public services announcements detailing the precautions to take when traveling at night to avoid vampire attacks; self-defense classes specializing in defense against supernatural attackers.

 

Buffy was amazed at how easily most people seemed to accept it. It was as if they had merely been in denial before, refusing to acknowledge what a part of them already knew, for fear of being ridiculed or thought to be insane.  But now that it was open, common knowledge, many people began to come forward with their own stories of lost loved ones and strange occurrences they had experienced.

 

Riley became a very wealthy, very prominent man.

 

And Buffy, strangely uncomfortable with all the attention that seemed to be coming her way lately, even if most of it was indirect due to her relationship with Riley, mostly kept to herself and allowed him to soak up all the glory, although she had done quite a bit herself to help him reach the level of respect and authority he had reached. Dawn hated the fact that her sister, who had been fighting evil much longer than Riley had, was getting no credit for all their combined accomplishments, no acknowledgement for all her hard work.

 

But then, Riley acknowledged it.

 

He asked Buffy to marry him.

 

Dawn had known even then that Buffy didn’t love Riley, and that had been her first clue that there was trouble brewing in paradise. Buffy didn’t love Riley and want to marry him, as much as she thought that she was _supposed_ to love him and want to marry him. Dawn had warned her to be sure she knew what she was doing, be sure this was what she really wanted, before she said yes…but what did she know?

 

She was just her little sister, after all.

 

So Buffy had married Riley, a mere two years ago. And already, Dawn knew that she was miserable.  During that first year when Dawn had lived with them, she had seen a dramatic, almost instant change in Riley from the moment they got married.

 

He became quiet, withdrawn, moody. He spent a lot more time working on various projects, away from home, and Dawn knew that if not for her, her sister would have been very lonely. Buffy felt ignored and neglected, and Dawn began to notice her self-esteem suffer for it as well.

 

Riley would snap at her for little or no reason, and instead of getting angry and defending herself as Buffy would have ordinarily done, Dawn was shocked to see her backing down where she had done no wrong, blaming herself for the problems in her new marriage. If only she was a little more understanding, a little more patient, Riley was a very busy, important man…why couldn’t Dawn understand that it wasn’t his fault?

 

Buffy hardly sounded like the girl Dawn had grown up with anymore.

 

So it was that Dawn was not surprised when Buffy held her tongue, when Riley re-started the Initiative’s old research with controlling and using the demons and vampires for their own benefit, as opposed to simply eliminating their threat altogether.

 

Dawn knew her sister well enough to know that Buffy had very strong ideas about that sort of thing. She believed that it was that sort of mindset that had resulted in the disaster of the first Initiative. Buffy felt that if a creature was evil, dangerous, it should simply be eliminated – experiments with behavior modification and control were not only inhumane and ethically uncertain, but simply dangerous.

 

Still, she didn’t say a word as Riley began to do new research along the same lines as what the Initiative had done before, with the chips and such, building a facility where captured “hostiles” as he still called them were kept, experimented on, and rendered no longer dangerous.

 

Dawn knew that Buffy was worried about Riley’s new pursuits, and it bothered her that her sister refrained from saying anything about it to her husband. In fact, it seemed that as time went on, the distance between Buffy and Riley grew wider and wider, and Buffy began to close in on herself more and more.

 

Oh, she attended society events with her important, impressive husband, playing a role Dawn had never thought to see her in and hated the thought of – the dutiful, supportive wife, standing by her husband’s side, laughing at his jokes, supporting his every opinion, and never daring to think for herself for a moment.

 

But the only one she ever _really_ talked to was Dawn.

 

As Buffy’s status had gradually risen with Riley’s, she had become distanced from her old friends, Willow and Xander, who had once been closer to her than anyone. And to Dawn’s dismay, Riley had seemed to encourage this distance, often making snide cut-downs against them in the privacy of their home, insinuating to Buffy that she was above them now, that they were way above the league of the amateur witch and the pizza delivery boy she had hung out with before.

 

Dawn could tell that it angered Buffy when he talked that way about her friends…and that was why she couldn’t understand why Buffy didn’t say anything…why she allowed it…and why she continued to distance herself from her friends, just to please Riley. Before long, Dawn was not only Buffy’s sister, but her closest friend…her _only_ friend.

 

That was why Dawn had known so certainly that her leaving for college would crush Buffy.

 

Buffy had offered to let her stay there with them, as U. C. Sunnydale was only a short drive from their home. But the truth was, Dawn just couldn’t stand to spend any more time around Riley. He had become so arrogant, so self-involved, so…cold. And Dawn just couldn’t take another minute more of him than she absolutely had to.

 

Also, she had secretly hoped that Buffy would snap out of it once she was alone with him, and realized the kind of person Riley had become. Every time she came to visit her, Dawn asked her if she wanted to come stay with her.

 

And every time, Buffy refused.

 

“I miss you too,” Dawn said softly in response to Buffy’s words, and the sympathy, the sorrow in her eyes made Buffy look away.

 

“So what are you two doing tonight?” Dawn asked with a forced smile. She always tried to draw Buffy’s attention to the things that were _not_ right in her life – like the total absence of any actual fun. Maybe if she kept forcing Buffy’s eyes onto the harsh reality that was her life, and out of her state of denial, eventually she would care enough to do something about it.

 

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in an expression of disgust as she replied unhappily, “Riley’s dragging me to one of those horrible auctions. I hate those things.”

 

“Me, too,” Dawn agreed with a sympathetic grimace of distaste.

 

“But I have to go. I mean, he’s kind of the reason why they even have them, so I guess I ought to be supportive,” Buffy sighed.

 

 _Are you ever anything_ but _supportive?_ Dawn wanted to ask her, but didn’t. It was so unlike her sister to go along with something with which she disagreed so whole-heartedly as these auctions that were initiated by Riley’s organization.

 

And yet, here she was, going along with it just the same.

 

It had been a small step from the chips to render the demons and vampires harmless, to rendering them useful – especially now that society in general knew that they existed. Much to Buffy’s horror and disgust, Riley had gradually turned his project into a very profitable business.

 

Legislation had been drawn up, lobbied for forcefully by Riley and his supporters, to officially declare the otherworldly creatures he dealt with as non-human, in the realm of animals, and therefore not possessing any actual rights.

 

And then the auctions had begun.

 

Government sponsored and supported, places where people could buy a chip-controlled Fyarl demon to be used for heavy work, or any number of species for which Buffy did not know the names, to be used as beasts of burden.

 

Or a vampire, as a household servant.

 

A slave.

 

Buffy had thought of Angel, whom she had loved so deeply, and wondered where he was…if he was all right…and the thought of Riley’s auctions made her sick.

 

He had wasted no time in obtaining plenty of servants for the beautiful, spacious mansion in which they now lived. Buffy tried not to notice the unusual ratio of female vampires that he had purchased…or the unusual amount of time Riley seemed to spend alone in his study with some of them.

 

Even beyond the thought she tried to put out of her head, the fact she tried to deny of Riley’s infidelity, she hated the very idea -- because as much as she tried to tell herself that Riley was right, they weren’t human and it was not a moral issue, she had ceased to believe that in the moment she had fallen in love with Angel.

 

She hated what her life had become, a pretense of love and happiness that she had to fake her way through every day.

 

And she hated the auctions.

 

But she was in a position many girls would envy, she told herself, though she couldn’t make herself believe it. She was wealthy, and married to a handsome, powerful man who was still going places, although he had already come so far. What right did she have to complain?

 

She sighed as she watched her sister’s car backing out of the driveway, and went upstairs to change her clothes for the evening’s event. They were always formal affairs, and she wanted to look her best. She would have to suffer her way through it, as she always did, trying her best to look as if she was enjoying herself.

 

It was her duty.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy descended the stairs, in a dark green dress of some rich, soft fabric that accentuated her curves and was very flattering. Her hair was carefully upswept in a style that she wouldn’t have had the first clue how to do during her Slaying days. Riley was waiting for her at the bottom, his arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

 

He was not even looking at her.

 

When she reached the bottom, he spared her a glance, muttering, “Finally. God, Buffy, how long does it take? For all the time you took, I’d have expected…” His voice trailed off, shaking his head as he turned toward the door, with a dismissive “forget it” sort of gesture of his hand.

 

The statement he didn’t finish stung her. _For all the time you took, I’d have expected…_ Buffy knew that he had been going to say, “more”. _Great,_ she thought, swallowing back the hard lump that rose in her throat. _Just the way I need to start this_ wonderful _evening…with a kick to the self-confidence by Mr. Tactful. Why isn’t anything I do ever good enough for him?_

 

The ride to the auction in the classy, expensive black car that was Riley’s newest mode of transportation was smooth and comfortable – and utterly silent. Buffy’s heart ached with the distance between her and her husband. She had known when she married him, in some part of her that she had tried her hardest to ignore, that she didn’t love him. But she had cared about him, and had believed that over time, those feelings could develop into love.

 

But they had not, even after all this time.

 

So why did the increasing fear that _he_ had stopped loving _her_ hurt so bad?

 

They reached the building where the auctions were held, about once a month or so, and a valet in a black tuxedo opened her door for her and took her hand to help her from the car. She smiled at him automatically as Riley came around the car to take her arm and lead her inside.

 

_Go through the motions, smile, look happy_ , she chanted in her head, nodding and smiling in greeting as they passed several people that they knew, on the way to the special reserved seating set aside for them.

 

Once seated, Buffy sat back with a small sigh of mingled relief and resignation. For a couple of hours at least, she could just sit back and not have to worry about making small talk with pompous, self-involved people she despised, who pretended to know her and pretended to like her, simply because of who her husband was.

 

Instead, she got to turn her attention to the disturbing inhumanity of the scene before her.

 

The center of the large room was a wide open circle, empty when the auction was not taking place. At the moment, it was completely filled with well-dressed people, strolling about, looking at the merchandise up for sale on this particular evening as they mingled and strengthened their considerable social connections.

 

Arranged in rows of small lots, each lot numbered, was a wide assortment of different breeds of demons. Those that were less similar to humans, the ones that best fit Riley’s description of all demons as “animals”, were locked in cages for the protection of the shoppers.

 

The vampires and other species more closely resembling humans were bound by heavy chains at their necks or wrists, attached to sturdy posts set firmly into the stone floor. There was no chance of their escaping or doing any damage to their current or prospective human captors.

 

Of course, all of them had already been fitted with the behavioral modification chip technology that Riley had perfected, so even had they somehow managed to break free of the impossibly strong chains that bound them, they would have posed no danger to anyone.

 

After playing the role of the dutiful husband and seeing that Buffy was seated comfortably, Riley made his way down to the main floor to mingle with his peers and check out the evening’s merchandise. Buffy hated even coming to these events at all, and the last thing she wanted to do was go down to the floor and look at the monsters. As it was, her repressed Slayer senses were screaming for release from the overload of the presence of so many demons so near to her.

 

She watched as Riley meandered his way through the crowd, away from her – always away from her.

 

_Am I that repulsive?_ she wondered for the thousandth time, her eyes falling to her hands, resting in her lap as her tears threatened again. _He used to want to be with me all the time…now he can’t wait to get away._

 

But the fact that she was struggling to deny was her relief that he _had_ left. With him had gone, if only for a few minutes, the unbearable strain of pretending that everything was okay – normal – when it was very much _not_.

 

She glanced back up, idly surveying the floor. Suddenly, she did a slight double take, returning her gaze to a lot right next to the wall of the arena, very near to her actually, that had caught her attention. Chained in the center of the lot was a vampire.

 

A platinum blond, male vampire.

 

His back was to her, but she stared at him, hoping that he would turn and she would get a glimpse of his face.

 

_Couldn’t be him,_ she told herself. _There’s gotta be thousands of vampires out there with peroxide blonde hair. Well, hundreds…okay, at_ least _more than one!_

Despite the distinctive hairstyle on the familiar frame, she thought that it would simply be too great a coincidence if it really was Spike down there. After all, he had taken off right after the Initiative disaster, and no one had heard anything of him since. Buffy had assumed that he was on the other side of the world by now.

 

Of course, Spike never could stay away from Sunnydale for long – and he always ended up paying for it.

 

As she watched, a well-dressed young woman approached the lot, and Buffy felt unreasonably irritated as she obviously looked the vampire, who was clad only in a pair of worn blue jeans, up and down in a lustful way. She felt her temper rising inexplicably as the girl made what was obviously a suggestive, mocking comment, leaning in dangerously close to the vampire, whose owner had foolishly chosen to chain him by the throat, leaving his hands free.

 

Buffy watched in amazement as the vampire lunged toward the girl, simultaneously morphing into his game face and gripping her arms, pulling her very close to him to whisper something in her ear. Then he released her and changed back just as quickly, laughing as the girl stumbled backward in fright, losing her balance and nearly falling to the ground.

 

Buffy found herself suppressing a laugh as she watched the scene. If there had been any doubt left in her mind as to the identity of the vampire she was watching, it vanished when he tilted his head back challengingly and raised two fingers at the girl in an obscene gesture.

 

A distinctly British obscene gesture.

 

Suddenly, it didn’t matter to her anymore that the last time she had seen him, he had almost gotten her and her friends all killed; that all seemed a lifetime away, anyway. He was someone familiar, a reminder of a long-lost life that she missed desperately, far away from the wearying pretense that she existed in now.

 

Without really knowing why, she rose from her seat and headed gracefully down to the floor.

 

 

Spike was still laughing at the expression on the spoiled little rich girl’s face – yeah, that would teach her to mess around with a master vampire! -- when he felt the sharp crack of a whip across his shoulders. He flinched involuntarily at the flash of white-hot pain, as his master came quickly up behind him, furious at the little display, and at the fact that the potential buyers who had witnessed it were now steering clear of this particular lot.

 

The much larger man seized a handful of his hair and yanked his head back hard, snarling in his ear, “You worthless little piece of crap! If you go home with me today you’re going to regret it, do you understand me?”

 

Spike didn’t bother trying to hide the smirk that rose to his lips in spite of the pain. This particular master was a violent man, with a violent temper, and he did not usually make a habit of doing things that he knew would anger him. But the look on that silly bint’s face when he had whispered his suggestions in her ear – well, it was bloody worth it!

 

Almost.

 

“You’d better hope you didn’t scare all the buyers away, vampire!” the man snarled, releasing him with a shove and following it up with a backhand blow that sent him stumbling, struggling to keep his footing as stars danced before his eyes.

 

As the haze that blurred his vision began to fade, he could make out the vague form of a person standing in front of him – a woman. As his vision cleared, his eyes moved slowly from the ground up, taking in the gorgeous dark green fabric accentuating a flawless feminine frame, and raised his eyes to look her in the face.

 

He froze in recognition when he saw her standing there in front of him, taking in the scene calmly. He and the Slayer had not exactly been on good terms the last time he had seen her, and he had fled Sunnydale again, certain that she would be coming after him any minute to stake him for his betrayal.

 

But that was years, and eternities, ago – in another life, it seemed. Now, an unneeded breath caught in his throat as he took in each familiar line of her expression, and was carried back to another time – a time which, though turbulent and confusing for him, had been infinitely better than the present.

 

“Buffy,” he said softly, not even really realizing that he had spoken, until his master interrupted his reverie, demanding furiously, “ _What_ did you call me?”

 

Fighting back her irritation at the man’s reaction to her name, Buffy quickly stepped forward, the movement catching the man’s eyes, and only then making him aware of her presence. Looking a little self-conscious, he took a step away from the vampire, clearing his throat nervously.

 

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” he asked, respectfully, and Buffy realized that he recognized her. With a sigh, she reminded herself that there was probably no one here who did not – human or otherwise.

 

She kept her expression cool and smiled slightly as she asked, “Having problems?” Her tone was one of mild amusement as she glanced between the man and his slave.

 

Embarrassed by her having noticed the previous scene, the man stammered quickly, “N-no, no, Ma’am, no problem, really. This… _thing_ …” he spat out the word in disgust, glaring at Spike,  “…doesn’t know its place!” He smiled cruelly as he reached out and gripped Spike’s hair painfully, yanking him closer to him, in a wordless warning to good behavior in front of this very important lady.

 

Spike had kept his eyes and ears open during the past couple of years in which he had been enslaved, and he knew that the Slayer had been moving up in the world. He had not expected to ever see her again – yet here she was, in all her infuriating glory, smirking at him with laughter in her eyes at his predicament.

 

_Spiteful little bint_ , he thought to himself, feeling irritation rising in him with his shame at having her see him in such a helpless position.

 

_Course, it’s been worse, mate_ , he reminded himself. _You could be chained to a soddin’ bathtub!_

 

“It responds well to negative reinforcement, though,” the man went on, oblivious to the silent interaction taking place between the slave and the powerful woman standing before them.

 

“ ‘It’ does?” She seemed to be suppressing a laugh, her eyes sparkling with teasing mirth. And why should he notice her beautiful, sparkling eyes when she was mocking his suffering? he wondered, furious with himself as much as with her.

 

Buffy broke eye contact with Spike to look up at his master, and corrected dryly, “You mean ‘it’ does what you say when you beat the crap out of ‘it’.” he smirked wickedly back down at Spike and added, “I’ve found that to be true.”

 

He hated this, her casually discussing him with his master as if he was not even there, and he hated _her_ because he knew she was doing it because she knew he hated it. And he really couldn’t say any of the brilliant remarks that sprang to his mind, for every single one of them would have gotten him beaten senseless for disrespecting the bloody “lady”!

 

He glared back at her in furious frustration, as his master frowned in confusion.

 

“You – you _know_ this…creature, Ma’am?” he asked her, hesitantly.

 

“You might say that,” she smiled, not taking her eyes off Spike.

 

“But I’ve found that violence isn’t always necessary. There are other ways.” She was genuinely trying to help, so she was surprised and irritated when Spike sneered at her, a wealth of expression in those sapphire eyes that both mocked her concern for his well-being and suggestively asked what “other ways” she might have had in mind.

 

Her eyes widened in shock at his nerve. Behind her, she heard the sounds of the auctioneer coming to the podium, the crowd quieting somewhat, and knew that the auction was about to begin. She needed to get back to her seat.

 

“On second thought,” she said suddenly, looking back up at Spike’s current master, shrugging her shoulders carelessly, “Do whatever works for _you_.” And with that, she turned and walked away without giving Spike another glance.

 

Returning to her seat, she found that Riley was already there.

 

He smiled at her and held up the bidding card he had gotten for her. She had never once bought a slave of her own at one of these auctions, though Riley still always got her a card, and it was understood that she could bid at any point if she wanted, and money was no object. Although Buffy didn’t work, and all the money they had came from Riley’s pursuits, he recognized, if only privately, that he would not be where he was if not for Buffy, and his money was hers to spend as she wished.

 

“Where’d you go?” he asked her in a tone of mild surprise as he smiled up at her. It was as much affection or concern as he seemed to show lately.

 

“I got bored,” she said casually as she shrugged and sank back down into her seat, automatically reaching to take the bidding card from his hand.

 

She stared down at it without seeing it as she thought over the little encounter she had just had. She felt a little guilty for her parting words, though she knew she wouldn’t have said them if she hadn’t known that the auction was about to begin, sparing Spike any more actual harm from the man who would no longer be his master in a few minutes.

 

Why did she even care? she wondered. Spike was not only a soulless vampire, but a soulless vampire who had tried to kill her or have her killed many times, lied to her and betrayed her, and nearly gotten her killed the last time she had seen him. Why should she care what had happened to him? If he got beaten, staked even, it was no more than he deserved – right?

 

Why wasn’t she sure?

 

And she _certainly_ shouldn’t feel guilty for laughing at him, she told herself firmly. After all, it was normal to laugh at the misfortune of one’s enemy – wasn’t it? And he _was_ her enemy. He was. Always had been.

 

She thought back to the first time she’d ever seen Spike, when he had informed her openly of his intention to kill her, and unwittingly began the dance that would follow them through the next three years. She remembered the fire, the passion and challenge of being the Slayer and facing down an enemy who was truly equal to her in skill and strength.

 

She had almost been sad when he had gotten chipped, though she never would have admitted that to him. Gone was the single opponent she had known that she had never been able to _truly_ defeat – at least, not in a permanent sense. He had been crippled, restrained – and it was almost…disappointing.

 

As the memories washed over her, she longed for those old days, before all of this. Now she had no one to fight with like that – no _need_ to fight anymore – but she also had no one to talk to, no one to remind her of what she had once been.

 

In those few moments down on the arena floor, speaking not a word more than her name, he had brought it all back to her – the power, the challenge, the awe-inspiring fact of who and what she was – the Slayer.

 

A wave of sadness hit her as she realized that that fire fanned by the memories was already fading; she was already beginning to slip back into her quiet little “normal” shell.

 

If only she could hold onto that long lost feeling that seeing Spike had reinspired in her, just a little longer!

 

Suddenly, her eyes widened, as the bidding card in her hand came into focus with a blinding clarity, as she turned it slowly over and over in her hand. She froze as a crazy idea occurred to her, and she repeated her previous thought in her head…if only she could hold onto it…

 

She smiled slightly. Maybe she _could_.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike sat silently in the backseat of the luxurious car, beside the two female vampires Riley had just purchased, a million thoughts running through his head all at once. And at the forefront was one single question which demanded an answer.

 

What had happened to the Slayer?

 

The silence between the couple in the front seat was almost a tangible thing, stifling and smothering, making the atmosphere terribly uncomfortable. Riley was angry, and Spike was sure that Buffy was too, and hurt…yet she said nothing. Why was she so submissive to the wanker who had practically worshipped the dust under her feet the last time he had seen them, and now treated her with such contempt?

 

He was still apprehensive, unsure as to what purpose he had been purchased for. He knew that if the Slayer was still angry over the problems he had caused her in the past, this was her perfect opportunity to make him suffer for it. But she really didn’t seem too eager to hurt him, and she had even tried – however weakly – to stop her husband when he had struck him.

 

Riley Finn. Now _there_ could be a serious problem.

The man had not spoken a single word to him before he was already knocking him around. He obviously had a grudge against him, and Spike had the unpleasant feeling that Finn was looking forward to having the chance to satisfy that grudge.

 

Riley had agreed to let Buffy do things her way when it came to her new slave – but who knew how long that would actually last? And Buffy seemed so inclined to bend to the wishes of her husband that he could hope for very little help or protection from her, he was sure.

 

Again he wondered – what had happened to the strong, assertive woman he had known, the one who would never have allowed any man to treat her with the disrespect her husband had just shown her?

 

When they reached the rather impressive mansion that was Buffy’s home now, Spike could not help but stare. He had had several different owners since he had been captured a couple of years earlier, but none of them had been as wealthy as Buffy obviously was now.

 

A gentle pull on the chain around his neck drew his attention, and he looked down at Buffy, who had been walking ahead of him, but had now stopped and was looking at him with an odd expression on her face. She looked pensive, thoughtful – and a little sad. As Riley came around the car with his new slaves, Spike quickly dropped his gaze, wanting to avoid another confrontation with G.I. Git, as he had mentally christened the man.

 

He silently followed Buffy into the house, through a rather large foyer and into what, in a smaller house, would have been called a living room. But everything in this room was large and ornate and impressive, and lacked the comfort that Spike associated with the words “living room”.

 

Riley quickly disappeared with his two new slaves, as he usually did on auction nights, and Buffy felt a fresh wave of shame go over her as she wondered if it was as obvious to Spike as it was to her what Riley was doing with the girls.

 

It was, and Spike was utterly stunned that Finn had the gall to be so obvious about it, but he did not say a word, and did not allow his expression to reveal his thoughts about it.  He felt a sudden irrational anger toward Riley, and immediately wondered why. What did it matter to him if the wanker was unfaithful to the Slayer? It wasn’t as if he was even _friends_ with the bint; quite the opposite, in fact.

 

So why did the sight of the tears she brushed from her eyes as she turned away make him want to tear Finn to pieces right then and there?

 

Quickly composing herself, Buffy turned around to face him again. Sooner than she had predicted, the nostalgic whimsy that had led her to make this purchase had vanished. But it was not, as she had expected, due to Spike’s personality; rather it had been swallowed up by hurt at her husband’s behavior. She felt certain now that she had made a foolish mistake in bringing Spike here at all.

 

Well, there was nothing to be done for it now. In the morning, she would have to find something for him to do; leaving him idle would be inviting Riley’s wrath down upon him. But for tonight, she was just too exhausted to think anymore, drained of her energy by the pain and uncertainty Riley was causing her. She would just get Spike settled in the servants’ quarters and go to bed.

 

Alone.

 

Spike was really not sure how he should act towards Buffy, now that he quite literally belonged to her. Buffy had not seemed nearly so concerned with his keeping a respectful, subservient demeanor towards her as had her husband, and Riley was nowhere to be seen. But Buffy seemed to go along with whatever Riley said, for some reason. He made a quick decision that for now, caution seemed to be the order of the day.

 

When Buffy stepped toward him, pulling lightly on the chain as she did, he obediently stepped forward to meet her, careful not to lift his gaze to meet hers, although he found himself wanting to, badly.

 

She stood a bare foot or so away from him, and he noticed that her hands were trembling as she took they key his former master had given her and reached to unlock the chain around his neck.

 

Her voice was calm but strained as she spoke, as if she was teetering precariously on the edge of breaking down, just barely managing to keep her tears in check. “Don’t try to get away,” she said, her voice carefully even, yet still somehow revealing the depth of emotion she was trying to hide. “You can’t, even if you did, we can track you through your chip. And when Riley caught up with you, he’d be furious, and…” She paused, drawing in a deep, shaky breath as the chain fell away from his throat into her hands. “…and neither one of us wants that,” she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

Her tears were beginning to win the battle for control.

 

“I won’t,” he assured her simply, his voice soft and low.

 

“Turn around,” she ordered softly, and he did as she told him. “You’re probably wondering about this,” she went on, her voice quiet and even, with only a slight tremble in it. “But I don’t intend to hurt you, Spike.”

 

_Good to know_ , he thought as the wide iron cuffs that bound his hands behind his back were removed, and he slowly brought his hands around to rub his aching wrists.

 

“Don’t do anything to make me change my mind,” she added, and her tone was warning without being openly threatening. Still, he knew that she was serious as she walked around to face him.

 

“I won’t, love,” he replied without thinking about it, then glanced up at her and quickly corrected himself. “I – I mean…” he hesitated, then stopped altogether. It felt very strange to him to call Buffy “mistress”, as Riley had commanded.

 

Buffy did not press the issue, which really wasn’t all that important to her. She looked at him for a moment without speaking, then finally said in a dark, warning tone, “Don’t ever let Riley hear you call me that.”

 

He noted with surprise that she did not say, “Don’t ever call me that,” but rather just warned him against saying it in front of _Riley_.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” he forced himself to speak the words. He supposed he was going to have to get used to it.

 

“Just do as you’re told and everything will be okay. Okay?” she said, her own eyes averted uncomfortably. The formal term of address bothered her as much as it did him.

 

He nodded. “Okay.”

 

“I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight,” Buffy said in a tired voice full of defeat. “Follow me.”

 

She was like a stranger to him. She hardly seemed like the same vital, confident girl he had known before at all. He had so many questions for her, that he dared not ask her, as they walked in silence through the wide halls of the vast house, and down a winding staircase that opened onto a long hallway, with rows of doors on either side.

 

She led him down the hallway, and he followed, to the first open door, and led him into a tiny room. The room had a twin bed with a thin mattress and a single cover. The only other furnishing in the tiny room was a small dresser with only two drawers.

 

“We’ll get you some decent clothes tomorrow,” she told him quietly. “The servants’ bathroom is at the end of the hall if you want to get cleaned up a little. There’s a little kitchenette down there too, with blood in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

 

He nodded wordlessly, still feeling the situation out, unsure of how to respond to this completely transformed version of the Slayer. The mood seemed so heavy and hushed between them. He wanted to be able to just _talk_ to her, to somehow find out what had happened to make her this way. But he had no idea what to say, and did not think that her reaction to the questions he had for her would be a positive one, anyway.

 

In that quiet moment, they heard the sounds of voices coming from the next room, one female, and the other quite clearly the voice of Mr. Finn. The female voice let out a slightly muffled squeal of laughter, followed by a sort of thudding sound, and Riley’s laughter joined hers.

 

It sounded as if he was having a very good time getting his new slave settled.

 

Buffy struggled to hold back the fresh tears that rose to her eyes. He had to have known that she would be bringing Spike down here; did he not care at _all_ if she knew what he was doing? And to have someone else present to hear it, to know what was going on between Riley and his slaves, even if it was only Spike – it was humiliating.

 

Buffy turned away quickly when she found that she could not hold back her tears anymore, hurrying toward the door.

 

“ _Buffy_.” Spike spoke her name quietly, urgently, and something in his tone stopped her. She closed her eyes and stood there, waiting for him to speak.

 

Spike wasn’t sure himself what it was he wanted to say, but he found himself encouraged by the fact that she had actually stopped to hear it. He stepped slowly toward her, trying to put into words what he was thinking. All he really knew was that what had once been a beautiful, confident – if infuriating – woman was being slowly broken down by a man who treated her like garbage – a man who didn’t deserve her.

 

When he didn’t speak, she turned to face him, her eyebrows raised expectantly over tear-filled emerald eyes, her expression tight and angry. “What is it?” she snapped, defensive, expecting his old mockery at the revelation of how pathetic she had become. But her voice broke over the words when she saw the sadness, the compassion in his eyes.

 

He took a few more cautious steps toward her, his eyes focused on her despite Riley’s orders. The pain in her eyes, sparkling with tears, was so intense that it took his breath away; and although at one time he would have relished it, savored it, and attempted to increase it – all he wanted now was to make it go away.

 

As he neared her, she looked down, unable to meet his piercing, perceptive blue eyes. The tears that streaked her face flowed harder as he reached a tentative hand to gently wipe one away.

 

“The man’s a stupid git,” he said softly. “Being in there with a coupla whorish trollops – when there’s a strong, beautiful woman like you right here, hurting for loving him.” A part of his mind was screaming at him to stop, to back off before he got himself into all sorts of trouble, but he just couldn’t seem to stop himself. Without even really knowing what he was doing, he reached out cautiously to put his hands on her arms in a comforting way.

 

The compassion, the tenderness with which he was speaking to her, overwhelmed Buffy with a fresh flood of emotion. She could not remember the last time Riley had seemed to care about her feelings, or touched her in a desire to comfort her – to fulfill a need of _hers_. And of all people, _Spike_ , to be showing such concern for her, such kindness!

 

Her lonely heart ached for the comfort in his voice and his touch, and she found herself wanting to sink into his arms and let him hold her. With a jolt, she suddenly realized all at once the direction her thoughts had been taking – and it terrified her.

 

_No!_ her inner voice shouted in panic. _He’s a vampire! You’re a married woman! Get away!_ It was time to take control of the situation in a big way, before it got completely out of hand, she realized. _You ARE in control, here, Buffy,_ she reminded herself. _He’s the slave…you’re the mistress…so_ take control _!_

 

Spike was startled when she suddenly looked up at him sharply, her eyes blazing with a defensive anger, and she jerked away from him, throwing her arms out to break his hold on them. Instinctively he took a step back, sensing that he had crossed a line.

 

“Don’t try to tell me what I feel!” she snapped in a voice trembling with fury born of her pain, advancing immediately into the space he had just relinquished by backing up.

 

What was he thinking? he wondered, berating himself inwardly for acting so impulsively, so foolishly. He had been in slavery long enough to know better than to make such a move on his _owner_ of all people – even if it _was_ Buffy. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied quickly, quietly, his eyes downcast again. “I’m sorry.”

 

He took another step back as she stepped forward aggressively, ordering in a low, furious voice full of tears. “Don’t _ever_ touch me again! Do you understand me, Spike? Don’t _ever_ touch me!”

 

To his relief, she seemed to be deliberately keeping her voice low to avoid being heard through the thin wall into the next room. So apparently she didn’t intend to tell her husband about his presumption.

 

He nodded quickly. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied immediately. He could see that in her precarious emotional state, the Slayer was dangerous close to losing her temper and simply venting her pain on the nearest available person – who was not necessarily the one responsible for it. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, keeping his voice low and his eyes down.

 

His calm, even tone, had a settling effect on Buffy, and as she began to regain control of her emotions, she felt a sudden wave of shame at her own behavior. She looked up at Spike, and saw that he was in retreat-mode, making it clear by his demeanor that he was being submissive to her, obviously afraid that she was going to lose control completely and break the assurance she had given him only minutes before, not to hurt him.

 

“God, this was a mistake,” she muttered, shaking her head as she exhaled heavily, feeling guilty and ashamed…and then angry, because she _shouldn’t_ feel guilty! He was a _vampire_ , and a vampire who belonged to her at that! If she wanted to stake him right then, on a whim, it was her right, so she shouldn’t feel bad about merely scaring him.

 

That was Riley’s version of truth.

 

So why did it feel so wrong to her?

 

She looked up at Spike again, who had tentatively raised his eyes to gauge her expression, but now dropped his gaze again when her eyes fell on him.

 

“Spike,” she said, sounding tired and sad, her voice now much quieter, subdued. “Look at me.”

 

He obeyed, his blue eyes not revealing any emotion. His expression was carefully calm, patient and expectant.

 

“It’s been a _very_ long night,” she began, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m tired. I’m in a _very_ bad mood. I think we should just go to bed now and start things off on a better note tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied evenly, and she winced inwardly at the word she was quickly growing to hate.

 

She paused for a moment, then added in a voice that was quiet but firm, “My relationship with Riley is absolutely none of your business. Do not interfere in it again. Is that clear?”

 

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

 

She shook her head slightly in dismissal. “Look…I know this is just too weird…we know each other and all…but we are in no way friends, Spike,” she informed him, her voice soft but authoritative. “Whatever happened before – it’s so far in the past, it doesn’t matter anymore. I _own_ you,” she went on, hesitating a little over the word that still sounded so strange to her. “and you will do what I tell you to do, and stay out of my personal life. That’s all.” Her tone made it clear that there was to be no further discussion.

 

He nodded again. “Yes, Mistress.”

 

“I told you that my intention is not to hurt you, and I meant it,” she assured him, as she turned and headed toward the door. “Just remember your place in this household – and I’ll remember that.” Without waiting for a response, she started to leave.

 

“Mis – may I…” he began suddenly, hesitating over his wording before he said, “I – have a question.”

 

She stopped without turning. “Yes.”

 

He paused, unsure still of whether or not it was wise to ask it. Finally he said, “What exactly _is_ your intention…Slayer?”

 

She turned her head and gave him a weak half-smile, her green eyes sad and a little bewildered as she replied in a voice barely over a whisper.

 

“I’ll let you know when I find out.”


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy woke up the next morning with a vague sense of unease – as if she knew that something was wrong but could not quite remember what it was. Then all at once it came back to her, and she laid back in her bed with a groan, closing her eyes tight.

 

_Spike._

 

And more specifically, what was she going to _do_ with Spike?

 

She had been vaguely aware at some point the night before when Riley had come to bed. He was not here now, which was quite ordinary. It was 9:30; he would already have been at work for a couple of hours by now. She got out of bed and got dressed, thinking over again the confusing events of the night before, cringing at the memory of her behavior – wrong in so many ways.

 

Not only had she allowed herself to break down in front of Spike, allowing him to see just how miserable and weak she had become, but she had allowed him far too close before she had stopped his unexpected advances.

 

 _Not very mistress-like, Buffy_ , she lectured herself. _Got to be firm…got to maintain a certain distance. Like it or not, you made the choice to buy him, so now you have to live with it. He’s your slave…not your friend….not your shoulder to cry on._

 

And what was up with that, anyway? she wondered. In her emotional state of the night before, she had not thought to notice how odd it was that Spike should be trying to comfort her at all. Now, however, in the light of day and a calmer frame of mind, she was amazed that he had done it at all. The last time she had seen him before the auction, he had wanted nothing more than to kill her.

 

So why was he…?

 

Her eyes widened, suspicion rising in her. He probably thought that he could play on her emotions, act like he cared and get her to trust him and confide in him, as a means of somehow managing to hurt her…or at the very least, as a means of self-protection. She wouldn’t be as likely to hurt him if she actually cared about him, would she?

 

Her expression softened a bit with sympathy at that thought.

 

If the latter was indeed his reason, she really could not blame him. He had to be very much afraid of what his fate might be, here as a slave in the household of his mortal enemy. She tried to imagine what she would feel if their roles were reversed – and knew that she would be terrified.

 

_That’s because he’s an evil, soulless killer, Buffy!_ she reminded herself. _Anyone would be terrified to be at the mercy of an evil, soulless killer. If your roles were reversed, you’d be dead already! Stop sympathizing with him, he doesn’t deserve it! He doesn’t feel like humans do, anyway. He’s not a person, he’s a cold, evil, undead thing!_

 

But then, unbidden, the memory of the feel of his hands on her, tenderly trying to ease the pain that had been caused by someone who had once claimed to _love_ her, came to her mind.

 

How tender and understanding he had been with her, not berating her for her weakness or belittling her tears, as Riley did so frequently! A little voice in her head reminded her that Spike did not have the option of berating or belittling her, but the fact was that she could not remember the last time anyone – besides her sister, of course – had made her feel like her feelings mattered. She couldn’t remember the last time a _man_ had made her feel…

 

_Not a man, not a man!_ her inner voice chanted. _Stop this, Buffy, or you’re going to end up just like Riley, sleeping with some disgusting thing that’s not even human, just because he’s got_ really _pretty eyes, and unbelievable abs, and…_

 

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock at the turn her thoughts were taking. Even her rational inner voice was turning against her, she thought with frustration. She did not need to think about how attractive Spike was – but why had she never noticed it before? she wondered. For the next few moments she waged an internal war with herself in her confusing, conflicting thoughts.

 

_You’re a married woman, stop thinking this way about a vampire slave!_

 

_That’s never stopped Riley! Spike is yours now, you can do whatever you want!_

 

“No!” she said aloud, softly, and glanced around, glad that no one was around to hear her talking to herself. That was all she needed, for Riley to hear from his vampire whores that his wife was losing her mind. _You’re only thinking this way because he caught you at a vulnerable moment,_ she told herself silently. _He’s not a man, he’s a vampire, and he’s your slave. Nothing more._

She shook her head, trying to put the troubling thoughts from her mind and just finish getting ready for the day. She would have to show Spike around the house today, get him familiar with where everything was, and find him some work to do.

 

But as she put on her clothes and headed downstairs, a single question occurred to her. _If he’s not a man,_ she wondered, her sense of unease deepening at the thought. _Then why do I feel more like a woman this morning than I have in months?_

 

 

Spike awoke with a start in the tiny, dark basement room, feeling disoriented and confused. Where was he? He suddenly remembered as it all came back to him – the auction…the Slayer…Finn… _the Slayer_!

 

He sat up in the bed, cringing at the memory of his behavior the night before. Now, with a little distance between himself and the events of the night before, he could not believe that he had let his sympathy for the obviously hurting Slayer take such control of him, as to make him do such a foolish and potentially dangerous thing as he had done. And why should he feel sympathy for her at all? he wondered. She was his enemy! She had nearly killed him many times, and now she had bought him and was keeping him here as a slave! Why should he feel anything for her but hatred?

 

And why could he feel nothing for her but compassion?

 

He glanced around the dark room as his enhanced vision became adjusted to the darkness. There was no light in the room at all – perhaps Finn’s extensive studies into vampire attributes had convinced them that it was unnecessary. There were no windows, which would obviously be of the good during daylight.

 

But it made it next to impossible to have any idea what time it was. Since becoming a slave, he had adjusted himself to the schedule of a human, as all of his previous masters had required. His internal clock was telling him that it was probably morning, but he had no idea what time. Was he required to be up and about by a certain time?

 

He was reminded again with an uneasy feeling that he had absolutely no idea what was going to be expected of him here. He rose from the bed and went to the door, turning the smooth handle – no locks on the doors of the slaves – and walking out into the dimly lit hallway, which was already abuzz with activity.

 

Fifteen or twenty slaves were bustling about, in various stages of getting ready for the day. He felt a little self-conscious for some strange reason, very aware of his utter lack of decent clothing. All he had was the single worn pair of jeans he wore. Buffy had promised to get him some clothes today, but as of yet he had nothing.

 

He stood there outside the door to his little room for a few moments, watching the activity before him. He reached out and caught the arm of a female vampire who was walking quickly past him toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.

 

She spun around to face him, smoothly slipping out of his hold on her arm and giving him a questioning look, eyebrows raised. He noticed immediately that she was very attractive. She had long, silky dark hair and large dark eyes that drew a man in if he wasn’t careful. He could only imagine the men that must have literally fallen for her, victims under her spell, in the days before her slavery.

 

In some ways she reminded him of Drusilla, except with more attitude, and a _lot_ more make-up, and…well…not insane.

 

“Can I help you?” she asked slowly, meeting his eyes with a direct, bold gaze.

 

He gave her a patented disarming smile that tended to work with almost all females he came into contact with. “Just a bit new here, love,” he shrugged. “Was wondering what I’m s’posed to be doing right about now?”

 

She smirked as she looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed. She laughed softly, “Well, well. Looks like Mistress Finn’s finally decided to try and beat him at his own game, huh?”

 

His eyes widened as he realized just what she was saying, and his mind went back to the events of the night before. He had not really intended at that moment to make any actual sexual advances on his mistress, had only wanted to comfort her, but either way, Buffy had made it perfectly clear that she would _not_ have been interested at all.

 

“Don’t worry about what you’re supposed to be doing, cutie,” she remarked, looking him over again, a little more appreciatively this time. “I’m pretty sure _she’ll_ find _you_. What’s your name, honey?”

 

“Spike.”

 

“Spike?” she repeated, laughing. “No… _really_?” she gave him an apologetic grimace, the laugh still there in her voice.

 

Irritated, he said dryly, “Really. And what should I call you? Quick now, love, before I come up with something of my own.”

 

A slow smile spread across her face at the annoyance she could see behind his smirk. “Velvet.”

 

It was his turn to laugh. “Velvet. And you’re laughing at _my_ name, when yours sounds like he bought you straight out of a bleedin’ whorehouse!”

 

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she still smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, well…wasn’t my idea,” she replied. “Master likes to pick out his own names for his…girls. Got a great imagination, too,” she added with obvious sarcasm, leaning back against the wall beside him. She looked back at him with a smirk of her own, “And I wouldn’t talk, _Spike_ ,” she went on, glancing suggestively at the front of his well-worn jeans. “Did she pick that out, too?”

 

“No, it’s not like that, love,” he laughed, a bit awkwardly. “Trust me, it’s not like that at all. See…she hates me,” he explained matter-of-factly. “In fact…don’t get too used to seeing me around, pet. I’ll probably be dust before long, if I keep up the way I’ve been going.”

 

Velvet shrugged. “Not likely, honey. She hates _him_ …and she hasn’t killed him yet.”

 

“She does?” he replied, glancing at her and trying not to show his interest in what she was saying. Why _was_ he interested in what she was saying, anyway?

 

“Yep. That marriage is a joke,” she informed him, lowering her voice a little as she met his gaze. “He hardly touches her, they hardly ever talk. He’s down here all the time. Or you know,” she shrugged carelessly. “We’re up there. Either way. And she knows all about it, but he doesn’t think she does. I don’t think it’d bother him if he did, though. Bastard,” she muttered, and though her tone was calm and unconcerned, he could hear the underlying hatred in her tone. “Wish she _would_ kill him.”

 

He shrugged slightly, looking down but watching her out of the corner of his eye as he said in a quiet, even voice, “Doesn’t sound like you’ve got it so bad, love.” He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going, and he wanted to find out as much as he could about the dynamics of this household.

 

Knowledge was power…and he could use whatever little bit of that he could get.

 

She laughed, a soft, bitter sound as she gave him a sneer, disbelief in her eyes. “No. Doesn’t _sound_ that bad, does it? I’m even a favorite of his, if you can believe that.”

 

He nodded slowly, looking at her. “I can,” he replied with a small, encouraging smile.

 

“Problem is,” Velvet went on, looking away from him but maintaining her cool expression and tone. “Finn has quite the…um…appetite. And I guess you could say he’s pretty generous,” she shrugged with a sarcastic smile. “He gets off on making a girl scream…” she paused, her smile fading. “One way or another. And you’d better be grateful, too,” she added, bitterness creeping into her tone. She finally looked at him again, and her dark eyes were chillingly expressionless over her brittle smile. “It’s quite an honor to be one of his favorites.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, meeting her gaze firmly, his deep blue eyes searching hers, and suddenly she looked away again.

 

It didn’t matter. His mind was racing. He thought that he was beginning to understand. “Soddin’ wanker couldn’t do things like that to Buffy,” he commented, mostly to himself, not really aware of whether or not Velvet was hearing him. “She would never have let him. So he had to turn elsewhere to satisfy his little kinks.”

 

“Looks that way,” she replied flatly. Suddenly, she moved away from the wall, turning to face him, her arms crossed over her chest defensively as she met his eyes boldly.

 

He could see instantly that she regretted her openness, was already feeling foolish and vulnerable for having told him so much so quickly, and she intended to strike first before he could use the information against her.

 

He had read her well in a matter of moments, and it was clear that while Velvet tried to put on a tough front, tried to make herself invulnerable in the painful situation she had found herself in…it was all a façade. She was not-so-secretly tender and vulnerable, far too open and needy for her own good.

 

She gave him a challenging look as she said, “She might feel a little differently now, though.” She took a step closer to him, a smirk coming over her face as she spoke slowly, “All that repressed anger and sexual tension, just building and building, month after month… _years_ , actually.”

 

Her voice was soft, almost mesmerizing as she leaned in closer. “And then here _you_ come along…” she went on, giving him another suggestive look. “Sexy little number like you,” she went on. “Completely in her power…to do whatever she wants with…”

 

In spite of himself, her words were beginning a little sick, nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his eyes widened a little as he considered what she was saying.

 

Her smile widened in amusement at his reaction, and she went on with a slow nod, “Bet she’s got some issues to work out. Might wanna take it out of a sexy vamp so she doesn’t end up killing her own husband.” She nodded again, looking away thoughtfully for a moment, before looking back up at him with a falsely bright smile.

 

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” she shrugged. “You’ll be dust in a week.” She stepped back with a satisfied look, leaning back against the wall again.

 

“Hey, now!” he protested, frowning as he advanced toward her. “Just a minute, there, love! I don’t think the Slayer’s like that at all!”

 

“And you know her well enough already to decide that?” Velvet countered, crossing her arms again and raising her eyebrows challengingly.

 

“I bloody well do!” he snapped, stepping closer to her until he was right in her face. Though her back was to the wall, she kept smiling, kept holding his gaze, didn’t even flinch. “I’ve spent plenty of time around the Slayer in my day, and I’m not afraid of _her_!” he informed her in a contemptuous voice.

 

“You’re not?” Velvet said, all wide-eyed innocence, still holding his gaze.

 

He gave a derisive little snort of laughter. “Not a bit! Why, Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes couldn’t lay a hand on me when I first got the chip, before all this even happened! I certainly don’t think she’s going to now. And if she tries…well, I know how to handle _her_.” He didn’t feel nearly as confident in what he was saying as he was trying to appear.

 

“You do?” Velvet prompted him, her lips turning upward in just the hint of a smile.

 

“I know her well enough to know how to push her buttons, pet. She might want to dust me now…but before I’m done I’ll be _telling_ her what she wants! I’ll have her right where I want her!” He didn’t actually believe a word he was saying; he was scared out of his mind and knew it, but he wasn’t about to let _her_ see that.

 

His mouth often expressed a bravery that he did not really feel, and this was no exception.

 

“You will?” Velvet replied, and he was just beginning to register the oddness of her sudden change in behavior, just keeping her own mouth shut for the first time since he had met her, and leading _him_ to keep on talking…

 

Velvet suddenly glanced over his shoulder at something – or someone – behind him, and the sick feeling returned with a vengeance.

 

_Oh, bollocks_.

 

He turned slowly away from Velvet’s cruel smile of self-satisfaction…to face Buffy, standing directly behind him, her own arms crossed over her chest, her lips pursed in an expression of controlled anger, her eyebrows raised as she gave him a cool, questioning look.

 

She did not look pleased.


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy had been coming down the stairs, the new clothes that she had brought down for Spike folded over her arm, trying to steel herself for what would surely be a very uncomfortable meeting, when she had heard the sounds of raised voices coming from the hallway. As she got nearer, she realized that it was actually a single raised voice – and it was _Spike’s_ raised voice.

 

When she came into view of the scene, she saw that Spike had one of the female servants backed up against the wall, and was not exactly yelling, but speaking very emphatically right into her face. She frowned, and was about to step in, irritated in spite of the fact that she pretty much despised all of the female household slaves, and this one in particular.

 

What was he doing, anyway? This was only his first morning here, and he was already attempting to bully his way into…what? fear and respect, a better position among the other slaves?

 

It was at that moment that she had noticed two things that had stopped her in her tracks. The first was that the girl he was talking to did not look the least bit intimidated; in fact, she was smiling, apparently amused by whatever he was saying.

 

The second was _what_ he was saying.

 

As she listened and realized that he was talking about her, talking about how little he thought of her and how easily he could make her do what he wanted, bend her to his wishes, she felt a cold anger rising up in her. She thought back on the night before, his tender, gentle behavior toward her when she had unexpectedly broken down before him, and it only increased the steadily building rage in her.

 

_So I was right_ , she thought, with an odd sense of disappointment and betrayal mingling with her anger. _It_ was _all just an act…trying to play on my emotions to get something from me. Well, he’ll get something from me, all right!_

When he suddenly stopped talking, however, obviously finally catching on to the fact that she was standing there, behind him, turning to face her with a wide-eyed, trapped expression on his face, she felt her anger and resolve waver a bit at the fear he tried to hide.

 

The slaves in the Finn household all did as Buffy said, obeying her without question and completely – but it was not so much for fear of _her_ , as for fear of her husband. They should have feared her – after all she _was_ the Slayer, and they all knew it – but she had never been a cruel person, and rarely hurt any of the household slaves.

 

As far as she was concerned, staking was one thing. The beatings and tortures that Riley seemed so disturbingly fond of were another thing completely – and a thing that she wanted nothing to do with.

 

She found herself torn. This was Spike; she _knew_ him. It didn’t seem right to her to hurt him, when he was powerless like this, unable to defend himself. Yet, the mocking smile on the face of the girl slave behind him, that contemptuous look that was not only directed at Spike, drove her to do something to firmly establish her authority, to _both_ of them.

 

It was only too clear to her that if she allowed Spike to brag about how easily he could escape punishment at her hands, how easily he could manipulate her, right in front of her, and then did nothing to him for it…well, it would only make it look as if he was right, and make any other slave who witnessed it have even less respect for her than they already did.

 

And she got enough sly, knowing looks behind her back from Riley’s female slaves as it was.

 

No. No matter how difficult it was for her to do, she was going to have to put Spike in his place, and she was going to have to let Velvet see her do it.

 

Spike just stood there, staring helplessly into the face of a very angry Buffy. Her expression was calm, but there was a controlled fire in her emerald eyes as they bored into his, and he could see the violent rage building there.

 

All traces of the broken, fragile girl of the night before had vanished completely, and in her place was a confident woman who exuded power in every aspect of her being – her expression, her carriage – every part of her now appeared almost regal in her authority.

 

It appeared that the Slayer he remembered had returned with a vengeance, and if it was a front, it was a very convincing one.

 

Spike cast an accusing look over his shoulder at Velvet, who just smirked at him, obviously pleased with herself and the situation she had gotten him into, before leaning back against the wall again with an interested expression on her face, waiting to see how the little scene would play out.

 

His attention was quickly drawn away from her and back to his mistress as she stepped smoothly, purposefully toward him, and he forced himself not to back down, still wanting deep down to hold on to as much of his pride as he could manage. Still, he could not force himself to meet her gaze, lowering his eyes automatically from the fury he saw in hers.

 

“Some things never change, do they, Spike?” Buffy said softly, coming another couple of steps closer to him, until she was standing very, very near to him.

 

He swallowed back a hard lump of fear that had risen in his throat, opening his mouth hesitantly to speak, unsure if he was supposed to respond or not.

 

Suddenly she drew back her hand and struck him hard across the face, hard enough to send him staggering back into the wall only a couple of feet behind him. Still, as the stinging pain of the blow gradually faded, Spike realized something that surprised him.

 

Either the Slayer’s physical strength had been fading with her emotional strength…or she had held back. At any rate, though it had hurt, that slap had not by any means been as forceful as he remembered her blows to be.

 

But he barely had time to think about it, before she was right in his face again, and instinctively he drew back this time, his bare back to the chill stone of the wall behind him.

 

“So you’re not scared of me, Spike?” Buffy went on in a soft, speculative tone, her slightly smirking face inches from his, and the sound of that soft, controlled voice, his natural instinct that screamed at him that here was grave danger, sent chills down his spine. The night before he had _wanted_ the old Slayer to return, but now he found himself wishing for the frightened girl of the night before who had shied away from his touch.

 

This was one of those questions that clearly had no correct answer. To answer that he _was_ afraid of her would be to face the humiliation of losing face in front of not only her, but Velvet, and the other two or three slaves who were lingering in the hall, pretending to have something to do there, but really just wanting to see the show.

 

To answer that he was not afraid of her would be to challenge her, and she was furious with him, and he had no means whatsoever of fighting back.

 

There was no possible way that that could end well.

 

“I – that’s not what I…I mean…” he struggled to find some arrangement of words that could possibly spare him from both unpleasant results, with no success.

 

“Yes or no?” she interrupted, her hand rising to fist in a handful of his blonde curls, pulling his head back slightly, not painfully, in a gesture meant to show her dominance over him. Though she was not hurting him – yet – he did not miss the harder note that crept into her voice, though it remained low and calm.

 

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment before admitting quietly, “Yes.”

 

Her smile widened in satisfaction. “Good,” she replied, her voice still soft and almost gentle. “You should be.” What she did not reveal was the sudden, surprising pang she felt at his admission of being afraid of her. Why should that bother her? she wondered with bewildered frustration.

 

She was _trying_ to make him afraid right now! She _wanted_ him to be afraid of her. Didn’t she?

 

So why did it almost hurt her to hear that he was?

 

Spike held his breath, which he didn’t need anyway, as he waited for her to make the next move. There was no denying that she could quite reasonably punish him severely for the rash, disrespectful words she had heard him say. And she was clearly angered by what she had heard. She was calm and in control, but that by no means meant that she wasn’t going to hurt him.

 

She had told him that she wouldn’t…as long as he didn’t give her a reason to.

 

_Bloody bolloxed_ that _right up, didn’t you, mate?_

 

Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes fell on Velvet, still leaning up against the wall a few feet away from them, unabashedly watching the scene with clear interest. The Slayer’s eyes narrowed on the girl, and she released her grip on Spike’s hair, stepping away from him and toward the other slave.

 

Surprised, Spike breathed out a sigh of relief at the loss of the fearful tension the Slayer’s nearness had caused him, as he watched her approach the girl who had caused this whole scene in the first place. Velvet didn’t move – didn’t dare, considering the unusually authoritative demeanor of her mistress – but he saw her tense in anticipation as Buffy drew near to her.

 

“Don’t you have something you should be doing?” Buffy asked her sharply, the expression she turned on her much more severe than the one she had given him, Spike noticed. “Is there any reason why you’re standing her watching something that’s clearly none of your business, slave?”

 

Buffy didn’t usually fall back on Riley’s practice of referring to the slaves by their title, something he did to emphasize their low position and remind them of his power over them. But she was not stupid, and though Spike had spoken the words himself that had gotten him into trouble with her, Buffy had not missed the fact that this girl had deliberately provoked him into it. This was one slave that she _did_ want to put in her place.

 

And also…she could not remember the girl’s name.

 

Velvet dropped her gaze, through sheer habit. She had been a slave to a cruel master for long enough to have broken the natural pride that made her want to defy Buffy. “No, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress,” she replied immediately, her voice quiet and submissive.

 

“Then I think you’d best get to your chores, don’t you?” Buffy snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” Velvet replied, and turned to head down the hallway.

 

Buffy maintained the harsh tone and raised her voice loud enough to be sure that the girl heard her next words as she turned back to Spike, who flinched just slightly as she returned to her intimidating stance in front of him. “And as for you, Spike…don’t think I’m finished with you yet!” she informed him in a softly threatening tone.

 

She thrust the folded clothes over her arm, which he had not noticed until that moment, toward him, and he automatically reached out to take them from her, still not daring to look up at her. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied softly.

 

“Put these on and get presentable. You remember where the living room is, right?” she asked him.

 

He nodded slowly, not saying a word. _So she does still call it a living room_ , he noted randomly, not really sure why that irrelevant fact sprang to his mind in the midst of this rather frightening situation.

 

“I want you there in fifteen minutes,” she instructed.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” came the soft response, before she turned and walked away.

 

As she made her way back up the stairs, she closed her eyes for a moment and let out a deep, shaking breath. She hated this. She hated the idea of owning something that, if not an actual person, certainly did a very good job of impersonating human emotions. She hated the fear she had seen in Spike’s eyes as she had deliberately reminded him of her power over him. She hated the submission that was so unlike him, obviously trained into him through the years of his slavery.

 

_Not trained into him very well,_ she reminded herself, remembering again the words she had heard him speaking to the slave girl downstairs.

 

Despite the sense of guilt she felt at her own power over him, it was quite clear that he still felt that he could manipulate her into giving him his way on some counts – and she simply could not allow him to think that, no matter how difficult it was for her. For him to keep that sort of attitude would only result in worlds of trouble for both of them, if Riley were to see it.

 

She steeled herself as she walked into the huge living room ten minutes later, preparing herself for what she was going to have to do.

 

She was going to have to put her slave in his place.

 

 

Spike dressed quickly, trying to steady his shaking hands, ending up having to unbutton and re-button the plain black button-down shirt Buffy had provided him with several times before he got it right.

 

_Stupid, idiotic_ wanker _!_ he berated himself mentally as he prepared for the meeting with his mistress upstairs. _Had to open your big mouth, didn’t you? Had to make her think you’re all mister high and mighty, needs taking down a notch or two!_

 

He had no idea what the Slayer had planned for him, what she had meant by her comment… “I’m not finished with you yet”…but it certainly did not sound like a good thing for him.

 

He had no choice. He had five minutes to get upstairs to the living room and face her. He stepped out into the hallway, and found himself face to face once more with Velvet, who was walking down the hallway when he opened the door.

 

They both stopped, just looking at each other for a moment, before she smirked at him. “Have fun,” she said sarcastically. “I know _she’s_ gonna!”

 

Fury overwhelmed him at this insufferable little bint who had deliberately put him in such a position, and before either of them knew it he had grabbed her by the arms and slammed her back, hard against the wall, snarling in her face.

 

“You bloody bitch!” he snarled menacingly. “I’m gonna rip your bloody throat out!”

 

She infuriated him further by just laughing up at him, not in the least afraid. “You touch me,” she told him boldly, meeting his eyes with no fear in her own, “and Finn will make you _beg_ to be dusted.”

 

He stood there for a moment, trying to reign in his overwhelming anger, realizing in some part of his mind that she was right. This was a favorite of the person in this household that probably wished him more harm than anyone else in the world. All Finn would need would be such an excuse to unleash his sadistic vengeance upon him.

 

Reluctantly, he released his grip on her arms, pushing her back slightly as he stepped back away from her. “Yeah,” she smirked, turning to walk away. “You were so right about the getting dusted thing. It’s been nice knowing you.”

 

“Maybe,” he agreed, his own smirk falling into place as he stood and watched her retreat. “Being dusted is actually better than _some_ things, love.” Ordinarily, even he would not have been so cruel, but he felt that Velvet deserved it. “At least I’m not playing the whore every night to some bloody sadistic human!”

 

Velvet stopped for a moment, then turned back toward him, her eyes full of hurt and anger, but her smile wide and victorious

 

“Not yet, honey,” she corrected him in a sneer, her voice trembling with anger and triumph all at once. “Not yet!”


	6. Chapter 6

Spike tried to put Velvet’s disturbing comments out of his mind as he made his way on shaking legs up the stairs and back to the room where Buffy had directed him to meet her. He realized that he was breathing, quick shallow breaths that were unnecessary for any other reason than simply to steady him – and they were failing at that.

 

He thought over the entire situation again and again as he made his way to the living room, and realized with a sinking feeling that nothing he could say was going to make this any better – not at the moment. His mind replayed the words that Buffy had heard him say, and he cringed at his own foolishness.

 

He had outright declared that he was not afraid of her, that he could manipulate her into doing anything he wanted – and though his fearful mind had no idea what exactly she had planned for him, he knew beyond all doubt that she planned to firmly convince him otherwise.

 

 _I’m bloody convinced already!_ he thought ruefully. _Not likely that she’ll believe that, though!_

 

Her tone, her demeanor, everything about her in the basement had spoken of barely bridled fury. He knew that she had just barely managed to keep her anger in check. The question was…why had she bothered to control it at all? He was her slave. She could legitimately do whatever she wanted with him, and no one would correct her or say a word about it.

 

He found himself confused, because she had clearly wanted to make a point to him and to Velvet that she was the one in control, and yet he knew beyond all doubt that when she had struck him, she had not used her full strength. She had deliberately held back some of her Slayer strength.

 

The question was, why?

 

He reached the living room, and took a deep breath before entering, closing his eyes for a moment and fighting back a sick feeling of fear that had risen in his throat.

 

_It’s just Buffy_ , he told himself. _Just Buffy. She wouldn’t really hurt you_.

 

He stepped into the room, keeping his eyes down as he had learned to do during the course of his slavery, and immediately could sense her there, her Slayer essence putting off an unmistakable sense of power and authority to such an extreme level that it sent his demon screaming for cover.

 

The rest of him desperately wanted to follow.

 

He chanced a hesitant glance up to her…and froze at the breathtaking and terrifying image that met his eyes. Buffy stood straight and proud, with no trace of the insecurity and self-consciousness that had plagued her the night before. Her piercing eyes of jade were cold as they fell on him, and her expression was hard, merciless, as she regarded her rebellious slave dispassionately.

 

It seemed that the Slayer had remembered who she was.

 

He looked down quickly from that intimidating gaze, and his stomach did a little flip as his eye locked onto the object in her hands – a thin, hard leather riding crop.

 

 Buffy’s heart was pounding with mingled dread and anticipation as she waited for Spike to show up. She glanced anxiously at her watch, and noted with dismay that it had been twenty minutes since she had left the basement. What was keeping him? And should she make an issue of his lateness? Would that small concession somehow lessen her authority?

 

She really had no idea what she was doing, she realized again, staring down wide-eyed at the distasteful object in her hand.

 

When she had left the basement, she had really had no idea what to do to Spike, only that she had to do _something_ to establish her dominance to him – and she highly doubted that mere words were going to do the trick. But as she had looked through the various weapons that Riley kept on hand for punishing his slaves, searching for something she could use, the thought of actually hurting him made her feel terribly uneasy – almost sick.

 

It was not as if she had never struck one of the household slaves before. Many times in the past, if one of them had mouthed off to her, or deliberately disobeyed her, she had exerted her authority to put them back in their place, so to speak, although that certainly didn’t mean that it was an easy thing for her to do. In some ways, she had adjusted to life as a wealthy, powerful slave owner.

 

In other ways, she never would.

 

_You’re the Slayer, Buffy_ , she reminded herself. _Vampires are supposed to tremble in fear before you._ She steeled herself, drawing upon her true nature to shut out the traitorous sympathy that she felt for Spike, in spite of herself. _Whatever you do is your right_ , she insisted in her mind. _You own him. You just have to make him understand that._

 

_It would help if I understood that first,_ a second inner voice whispered a moment later.

 

Buffy closed her eyes and forced back the softer emotions that weakened her. Spike did not deserve her sympathy. He had played on her hurt and vulnerability the night before, and had obviously fully intended to continue to do so, to get whatever he wanted to make the best of his new life as her slave. She had to make him see that he would _not_ be able to use and manipulate her like that. She had made the mistake of allowing him to see her vulnerability.

 

It was something she was determined that he would never see again.

 

 Spike wrestled with the fear that came over him at the sight of the weapon in her hand. The fragile assurance he had tried to hold onto that Buffy did not have it in her to hurt him, fled at the sight of the crop, held in unyielding hands of iron, far stronger than their deceptively soft appearance.

 

_Get a hold of yourself, mate_ , he urged himself as he stepped hesitantly a few steps closer to her, stopping a respectful distance away from her. _Don’t let her see your fear_.

 

_Oh, bloody hell. Too late for that_.

 

“You’re late.”

 

Just the sound of her voice, much colder and harder than he had expected it to be, intensified the sick feeling in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He knew any excuse he could come up with would be useless, and probably only succeed in making things worse for him.

 

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him.

 

Finally she spoke, her voice calm but commanding. “Come here.”

 

He swallowed hard, and forced himself to walk a few steps closer to her. As he did, she stepped steadily nearer to him until only a couple of paces separated them. Breathless, having no idea what to expect he waited for her to speak.

 

“Do you think you can play me, Spike?” she demanded, her voice soft. “Do you think you can play mind games with me and fool me into doing whatever it is that you want?”

 

Another question with no right answer. “No” would make him a liar. “Yes” would make him dead.

 

“No” seemed the lesser of the two evils.

 

He shook his head slightly, not looking at her. “No, Mistress…I didn’t…”

 

A sudden, unexpected slap, harder than the one she had dealt him earlier, rocked him backward a few steps. “Do not lie to me,” she ordered, her voice still calm and even. She paused before she said, in a voice a little softer, “I didn’t want to have to do this. I told you I didn’t. But you’ve left me no choice. I’m going to have to teach you what trying to manipulate me will get you. Is that clear?”

 

He knew he was innocent of the offense she was accusing him of. He also knew that to protest to that effect would only make matters worse. He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak at that moment.

 

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered in a voice of quiet resignation, and he was a little surprised by the command. _Of course_ , he realized with grim understanding. _Wouldn’t do to ruin the brand new clothes right off._ He wondered, however, why she had instructed him to put the thing on in the first place, only to make him take it off again mere minutes later.

 

Then it struck him…perhaps that _was_ the point. Just another little display of her power. He would do what she told him, when she told him, whether it made sense to him or not – simply because she told him to do it. He was her slave, and he was to obey without question.

 

And he did obey her, his hands shaking slightly as he fumbled with the buttons but finally managed to take off the new black shirt, folding it carefully and laying it over the back of the chair beside him.

 

“Just stand still and don’t move,” she ordered him, her hard, angry eyes meeting his boldly, almost defiantly.

 

And why should _she_ look at _him_ with defiance? Wasn’t she the one in control? he wondered suddenly.

 

“You may think that you can get away with things because you think you know me,” she went on, and he could hear a bit of her anger – and perhaps a little hurt – creeping into her voice in spite of her otherwise emotionless demeanor. “But you can’t, Spike. Whatever’s happened between us in the past is just that – past. And I’m not going to let it effect my judgment now. I can see through your little games, and I’m not going to put up with them! I’m not gonna let you make a fool of me, Spike!”

 

By the time she had finished, her voice was trembling slightly, and her anger was obvious. He winced inwardly. Her anger getting the better of her at a moment like this hardly boded well for him.

 

She walked around behind him, slowly, with measured, even steps, and he forced himself to keep perfectly still, knowing that she was about to begin, and willing himself not to move, not to flinch. He had felt the strength that the Slayer possessed during countless fights between them, and knew that she had the power to do him serious harm if she wanted to.

 

There was silence for a moment; he could sense her gearing up to strike, braced himself for the blow, for the searing pain of the crop across his back. And then – nothing. He froze, every muscle in his body tensed in dreadful anticipation of the blow that did not fall.

 

“You think I can let you get away with talking about me like that to _her_ of all people, Spike?” Buffy continued unexpectedly, apparently not even trying to hide her anger now. He could not see her face, but he could hear her dangerous emotional state in her trembling, tearful voice. “You think I can allow anything else to happen in this house to make them disrespect me even more? I can’t do that, Spike! I can’t let you get away with that, because if I do…”

 

Her voice trailed off, and he could hear her sniffing back tears. “I can’t. I have to do this, Spike,” she said, and he realized suddenly that she was not really talking to him. She was trying to convince herself.

 

He heard the slight whipping sound of the weapon cutting through the air as she drew it back swiftly for a powerful blow, and he braced himself for the impact. A beat later than he expected it to, the crop fell across his back. It was a stinging blow…but nothing like he had expected. A normal blow with even a fraction of her Slayer strength behind it would have left him bleeding, possibly knocked him to the floor – but her blow did not draw blood, did not even move him.

 

“I _have_ to!” she gasped, and her voice sounded weak and strangled, almost desperate, as he heard her draw back the crop a second time.

 

As the second, ridiculously weak blow fell, he could hear the sound of a soft sob behind him. He was stunned, and felt the overwhelming, unexplainable urge to turn and offer his comfort – but he did not dare. He heard her draw back the crop again…but the third blow never landed, and in the next moment he heard the hated weapon drop with a soft thud to the floor, and the muffled sound of the Slayer’s sobs into the hand she held up across her mouth.

 

“Damn it, Spike!” she sobbed brokenly in frustrated confusion and pain, burying her face in her hands and stepping back away from him.

 

Tentatively, he turned just slightly toward her, turning anxious blue eyes full of a concern he did not understand on this woman who should have held so much power over him, but had broken _herself_ in her attempt to wield it.

 

“Bu…Mistress,” he began cautiously, correcting himself at the last second. His voice was barely over a whisper, as he turned fully to face her. This time, against instincts that should have seemed unnatural to him, he did not dare to touch her. “Are you – are you all right, love?” he finally asked, softly, hesitantly, not willing to set off her anger again, but wanting to offer what little help he could. He was not even aware of the pet name that had slipped past his lips, coming so naturally to him.

 

She looked up at him suddenly, as if just seeing him for the first time, and he watched as her eyes widened in a sort of shock, turning to horror as she looked between him and the discarded weapon at her feet.

 

“I…” he tried again, stepping closer to her, telling himself firmly that this was not going to be like the last time. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to…”

 

“Go,” she whispered in a voice of defeat, looking down and away from him, trying to hide the pain in her eyes.

 

He gave her a questioning look. “A-are you su…”

 

“Just _go!_ ” she snapped through her tears, glaring up at him through tear-filled, shining emerald eyes, full of so many mingled intense emotions that neither of them could have identified.

 

He paused for a moment, wanting to stay, but knowing that the choice was not really his to make. He was hers to command. After a moment, he replied softly, “Yes, Mistress,” and turned to slowly walk away.


	7. Chapter 7

"So how are things going with your new slave?"  
   
Riley's question drew Buffy out of a pensive reverie, and she looked up at him blankly, startled, across the large oak dining room table. It was too wide, she thought randomly, looking back down at it. She had always felt like it kept them seated too far apart, like she could hardly talk to him across the vast distance between them.  
   
Riley did not seem to mind it.  
   
"Oh," she began, distracted. "Um...fine, I guess."  
   
"I saw him downstairs in the servants' quarters a little while ago," Riley went on, oblivious to the little flinch she tried to hide at his mention of yet another visit to the basement. "I see you've already had to put him in his place, huh?"  
   
Buffy winced inwardly at the reminder of the scene earlier that morning, wondering how Riley could have known anything about what had gone on between her and Spike. She realized with a sudden sense of guilt that one of her blows to Spike's face must have left a mark. The guilt was immediately followed by anger and frustration at herself for feeling guilty at all.  
   
*God, this is so confusing! I should never have bought him!*  
   


"Yeah. It wasn't a big thing, really. You know Spike. Never could keep his mouth shut," Buffy shrugged, forcing a laugh. If she allowed Riley to see how much it bothered her, she would end up having to suffer through another one of his endless lectures about how vampries were not people and had no rights, and how it did not matter what humans did to them.  
   
"Well, he'll have to *learn* to keep it shut!" Riley remarked darkly, looking down to take a bite of his steak, and Buffy felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. "So what are you planning to do with him, exactly?"  
   
The casual question caught her off guard. *I only wish I knew.*  
   
"Um...I don't know for sure," she replied slowly. "I hadn't really thought about it. He *does* need something to do."  
   
Riley shrugged. "It's about what *you* need, Buffy," he reminded her. "I guess it's harder for you to think of it that way. Well, I guess you really wouldn't know any better, since you keep yourself so distanced from my work and my colleagues," he went on in a tone of obvious disapproval. "But a society lady like you ought to have a personal attendant. Most won't even appear in public without one."  
   
"Personal attendant?" Buffy frowned, not sure what he meant by the term.  
   
"You know," he explained. "A slave that's there just to -- to *be* there and do whatever you happen to need at the moment. You shouldn't have to do much for yourself, Buffy. Especially now that you've got a slave that's all your own."  
   
Buffy didn't say anything for a moment, as she tried to digest his words. Riley *had* suggested the idea before, she remembered, a long time ago. But she had rejected all of the slaves he had suggested for the position, partly because she thought that her Slayer-self would go insane from the constant presence of a vampire, following her around, shadowing her every move -- even if it *was* just to serve her.  
   
Mostly, though, she just could not stomach the idea of constantly being with one of Riley's little whores, who would dutifully see that her mistress had everything she needed each and every day, and then each and every night climb into bed with her mistress's husband.  
   
*Well, that's one thing you wouldn't have to worry about with Spike,* she thought with a smile of bitter humor.  
   
She thought over the idea of Spike being her personal attendant, waiting on her hand and foot, and felt an odd sense of embarrassment at the idea. It just seemed so strange to her to think of someone that she had known before all of this, before she had become the important, respected Mrs. Riley Finn, serving her every whim, treating her like a queen.  
   
She felt as if she were hiding behind a very thin disguise, and that anyone who knew her from before would immediately recognize it, and leave her facade in shreds.  
   
Somehow, that thought made the idea *more* appealing to her instead of less.

She remembered the somewhat vague reasons she had had for purchasing Spike in the first place. All the changes that had taken place in her life over the past few years, which had on the surface appeared to be *good* changes, had in reality only served to make her feel gradually more and more out of place and less and less sure of herself. The confident, aggressive Slayer she had once been seemed to have vanished, hidden away in the meek, dutiful wife she had become.

Seeing Spike at the auction -- so like he had always been, cocky and arrogant and defiant, despite his hopeless circumstances – had served to remind her of much happier days, a past in which she was not hiding uncertainly in someone’s shadow, but confident and powerful in her own right.

She realized that some part of her had decided in that moment that it might be nice to have someone else around who remembered that girl, to recall those times with her and help her find a way to maybe, somehow, bring them back.

Even if that someone *had* been her mortal enemy at the time.  
But then, she remembered the scene that morning that had occurred between her and Spike, and cringed. She honestly was not sure how she was going to be able to face him at all after that. She had tried to exert her authority as his mistress, to show him who was in control, and had ended up instead not being able to give him even one decent blow without dissolving into tears like a child.

*Yeah, Buffy,* she thought wryly. *Very intimidating. He’ll think twice before disrespecting *you* again.*

But she realized with a sense of resignation that no matter what she decided to do with Spike, she couldn’t very well avoid having to face him, no matter how embarrassed she felt. He was her slave, and she was going to have to talk to him at some point, if only to instruct him in what it was that she wanted him to do.

Oh, yeah. It would help if she *knew* what it was that she wanted him to do.

Maybe having him as a personal attendant, keeping him close most of the time, would at least keep him from having the opportunity to talk and scheme behind her back. It would definitely make it easier for her to keep an eye on him, and therefore for her to keep him under control.

She looked uncertainly up at Riley. “I don’t know,” she said. “I sort of thought that my personal attendant should be…female.”

“Not necessarily,” he smirked with a soft little laugh. “A lot of ladies…well, they don’t exactly pick their attendants for their cooking and cleaning abilities, if you know what I mean.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, surprised at what Riley was saying. “Well, I’m not…” she began hastily. “I mean…I don’t want…”

Riley laughed aloud this time, smiling up at her. “Buffy, I trust you,” he assured her, and the cruel irony of those words spoken by her unfaithful husband made Buffy feel sick. “It’s not gonna bother me if you have a male attendant. I mean, come on!” he scoffed after a pause, giving her a knowing look. “It’s *Spike*.”

As if that was all there was to it. As if Spike was so utterly repulsive and pathetic that Riley didn’t have a moment’s concern about his spending hours upon hours with his wife, completely assured that nothing inappropriate would happen between the mistress and her slave.

Or perhaps not caring if it did, she corrected, swallowing back an involuntary sob that rose in her throat.

Well, if he didn’t care, then she didn’t care either, she decided resentfully. She had hesitated to give Spike that rather close position to her, for fear of offending or upsetting Riley, and it was hurtful to her to realize just how little he even thought about her at all, that the idea of another male, even if he wasn’t human, spending much more time with his wife than he did, did not bother him in the slightest.

Well, fine, then, she decided. If Riley didn’t care, then neither did she. Her decision made, she excused herself from the table to go and find her new personal attendant.

 

Spike had spent the greater part of the day feeling bored, and more than a little lost, as he simply wandered about the house, trying to get a feel for where everything was, while not looking too idle in the process. He got the distinct feeling that there wasn’t much loyalty among the slaves in this house; it seemed to be pretty much every vamp for himself, if Velvet’s behavior was any indication.

As he returned to the tiny room that was now his, not having anything else to do, he thought over again the events of that morning. He had gone into his meeting with Buffy a little nervous – okay, terrified, if he was honest with himself – knowing that it was in her power to make him suffer, not just for his rash, insulting words – which were enough in and of themselves to merit a severe beating – but also for every other offense he had ever committed against her.

When he had seen her standing there, her face set in steel and holding the riding crop in her hand, he had been certain that the Slayer was about to take her revenge for the many times over their long, complex history that he had tried to kill her, attacked her and her friends, lied to her and insulted her and just generally been a pain in her ass. He had known beyond all doubt that, having had several years for build up, this was going to be the most severe, painful beating he had ever received.

Thus it was that he had been absolutely astonished, disbelieving, when the Slayer had not even managed a single solid strike with the weapon, and had fallen apart before his eyes only moments after the attempt. No matter how many times he thought it through, he really could not understand it.

Of course, it made sense to him that the girl was hurting over the idiotic actions of her wanker husband, gadding about with his female slaves and ignoring his very attractive, but very lonely, wife. But to his way of thinking, that would have made for *more* pain aimed his direction, rather than less. He would have understood if the Slayer had taken the opportunity to vent her frustrations at her unfaithful spouse on the helpless vampire that was so conveniently at her disposal.

But instead, the act of attempting to hurt him had almost seemed to hurt the Slayer more than it did him – and he simply could not wrap his mind around it, could not comprehend the reasons why.

After all, she’d never had a problem with hitting him *before*.

His wondering was cut short by a soft rustle at the door, and he looked up with surprise to see Buffy standing there, watching him calmly.

He immediately rose from the edge of the bed, standing at a sort of attention before her, his eyes down, waiting to see what it was that she wanted. He did not understand at all the reasons why she had failed to actually hurt him earlier – and therefore he could not assume that she would fail to again, if he should anger her.

“What have you been doing today?” she asked him quietly.

He paused, hesitant. The truth – absolutely nothing – would probably not be very impressive to her. “Well…” he began with caution. “I wasn’t really sure…what I should be doing, Mistress. I didn’t really – I mean…”

“I dismissed you without telling you what to do,” she broke in, her relenting tone and words relieving his anxiety, as she took responsibility for the situation. “It’s not your fault.” She paused, her mouth opening to speak, then closing again as she thought better of it.

Then she changed her mind again and said, “Spike…”

When she did not go on after a moment, he chanced a look up at her, deep blue eyes searching hers. Her expression was firm, authoritative, but he could see regret in her eyes, and compassion – and sadness. That ever-present sadness that had been so foreign to the girl that he remembered.

“I’m a little new at this. This whole…mistress…slave…thing,” she waved her hand in an uncertain gesture as she tried awkwardly to explain what it was that she meant. “This all just feels kind of weird. Because of…well, everything…us…knowing each other and all. And to be honest with you,” she admitted, lowering her eyes for a moment before meeting his again. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really used to the idea of hitting you when I know that you can’t hit me back.”

Encouraged by her openness, and by her actual words which were far from what he had expected, Spike dared a slight smirk. “No need to apologize, really,” he quipped. “Can’t say that I mind.”

Buffy did not even crack a smile. “I can *get* used to it,” she went on as if he had not spoken, her voice and eyes hardening slightly. “If I have to.” She paused, before adding, “I don’t want to have to.” The honesty of her words was clear in her piercing emerald eyes as they bored into his, and he knew that she meant every word just as she had spoken it.

“You won’t,” he assured her quietly, dropping his gaze again in an attempt to show her that he would submit. Despite her good intentions, he was well aware that Buffy was potentially the most dangerous owner he had had since becoming a slave.

He had had others who had been of crueler natures, more violent and inclined to hurt him…but they had not had the actual power to do so. Not really.

As much as she did not appear to be at the moment, Buffy was the Slayer. She apparently did not intend to hurt him, but he was well aware that if at any point she *did* want to, she was capable of inflicting some serious damage.

She looked at him for a moment, as if gauging his sincerity, before she nodded slowly. “Good,” she replied, and he could hear the note of satisfaction in her soft voice. “I hope not.” She paused again, before going on.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to start your new job. You will be my personal attendant,” she informed him.

He looked up at her sharply, well aware of the implications of that term of which she was not aware. In his experience and the experiences of others he had seen, “personal attendant” roughly translated into “sex slave with benefits”. The personal attendants of his former owners had been subjected to all sorts of degradations – whatever the owner happened to fancy – as well as being required to wait on their masters hand and foot, meeting all sorts of other demands as well.

He had only actually *been* a personal attendant to one owner before – and it was an experience he tried hard to forget.

One look in Buffy’s eyes, however, told him that she knew none of this, and did not mean the term in the way that he had come to understand it. Just how she *did* mean it – he had yet to find out.

He looked down again, replying, “Yes, Mistress.”

“I want you to come to my room at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll go from there. Okay?” she instructed.

He nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“It’ll be your first day, and we’ll just kind of take it as it comes, you’ll just kind of get an idea of my routine and what I’ll need from you,” she went on, her voice even, but still sounding more than a little uncomfortable with the arrangement. “I’ll be patient,” she assured him. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot to learn.”

As she turned to go, she muttered something under her breath which he knew she had not thought that he would hear. However, she had forgotten that he had the benefit of enhanced vampire senses, and could hear the faint whisper of her words clearly.

“We both do.”


	8. Chapter 8

“And so it begins.”

 

Spike stopped just outside the door from his room, closing his eyes momentarily and forcing a sarcastic smile to his lips as he tried to rein in his anger at the unwelcome voice behind him.

 

After taking a moment, he turned to give the girl a very obviously fake smile. “Morning, love. Was hoping I’d see _your_ lovely face first thing this morning. Right refreshing, it is. Right up there with a nice, brisk holy water shower.”

 

She only smiled back at his sarcasm, ignoring his insults. “So. Your first day as Mrs. Finn’s personal attendant.” She gave him a slow, suggestive once-over look before adding dryly, “Wonder what she’ll find for you to help her with.”

 

Spike gritted his teeth behind his smile as he ground out, “It’s not like that, pet. Sorry to disappoint you, but the whole world isn’t condemned to _your_ sorry fate. I know that would make you feel better, but,” he shrugged. “oh, well.”

 

Her eyes narrowed in anger at his words, which struck a bit too close to home for her comfort. She merely shrugged. “Maybe it’s not,” she conceded indifferently. “Maybe not right now. But the poor girl’s going through a hard time, Sweetie. Being ignored by her man. I bet she’s really lonely. Not to mention angry. Probably wishes she had someone she could take it out on.”

 

She paused, frowning thoughtfully. “Oh, wait…she _does_!” she sneered. “And you two are going to be spending a _lot_ of time together.”  She was silent for a moment, her widening smile an indication of the triumph she felt at his slowly fading smirk. “It won’t take her long to figure out what she _really_ wants you to do for her.”

 

A part of him was sickened and a little frightened by her words, wondering if she could be right. After all, Buffy was carrying around a lot of repressed emotions of several different kinds. Sure, her intentions were to treat him well and not to harm him. But he knew from experience that good intentions were often forgotten in the midst of powerful, painful emotions like the Slayer was dealing with.

 

It was not that the thought of being with Buffy was even all that bad. After all, she was a very attractive girl; if he had to be a sex slave, he thought, he could be in a lot worse positions than this one.

 

What bothered him was the idea that he would have no choice in the matter. If Buffy _did_ decide that she wanted to beat her husband at his own game, there would be no option as far as he was concerned. She owned him, and had the power to do whatever she wanted with him, regardless of how he felt about it.

 

And _that_ was the thought that both sickened and frightened him.

 

Not really having a response to Velvet’s taunting, too caught up in the worries she had provoked to put the energy into a response, he simply turned away from her with a dismissive sneer and headed toward the stairs – and whatever fate awaited him in Buffy’s bedroom.

 

 

Spike stood outside the door for a long moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob uncertainly. That morning we had woken up he had been so optimistic! And here he was a bundle of nerves, terrified of walking into that room and facing the Slayer – something that had never terrified him before, when she had been much more than the subdued, weakened shell that she was now.

 

_Soddin’ vicious little bint_ , he thought resentfully of the slave girl who had so expertly resurrected the fears that he had tentatively laid to rest after his rather encouraging meeting with Buffy the night before. The fact that she had made the attempt to make things better between them allowed him to begin to think that maybe everything would be all right.

 

So far, she had not been too hard on him. He had received a couple of minor blows for an offense that he was certain would have earned him a severe whipping under anyone else’s ownership. Although he had initially thought that Buffy had bought him for the sole purpose of punishing him, he was beginning to believe that she honestly did not want to hurt him.

 

And then Velvet had to push her way into the picture, with her suggestions and speculations, and set his mind to worrying again.

 

He glanced over at the clock on the wall in the hallway, and noticed with dismay that it was ten minutes after nine. _Late again_ , he thought with a slight wince. _Well, she said she was going to be patient._ He had no time left; there was nothing for it but to just force himself to go in there, in spite of his fears.

 

He turned the knob and walked softly inside, surprising himself again by how terribly nervous he was. Once again, he had to fight off the surreal feeling of the situation, reminding himself, _It’s just_ Buffy _!_

 

He had felt many things for Buffy over the course of his strange, complex relationship with the tiny blonde Slayer with the big attitude, the only one whom he had never been able to truly defeat. Her sarcasm and wit, her boldness and strength, had both infuriated him and drawn him to her from the moment he had met her.

 

Dru had recognized it for what it was, first, long before he had brought himself to face the truth. She had seen it, and that was why she had left him. Because she knew, in spite of his continued affection, in spite of his catering to her as he always had – his heart was no longer hers.

 

When they had fled Sunnydale that day in his beat up old DeSoto…he had left it behind.

 

As hard as he tried to deny it at the time, he had been captivated by the fiery and fierce warrior who had proven herself far more intelligent and resourceful than any other opponent he had ever faced. And when Dru had realized it and began to look elsewhere, where had he turned to find solace in his heartbreak?

 

Sunnydale.

 

Again and again, he had returned to the place where he had seen the most trouble and defeat, never admitting to himself exactly why. He could not bring himself to face the truth of what – or who – it was that continually drew him back there.

 

It was only after his descent into the slavery of the past few years, during his total separation from her, and under the supposed safety of believing that he would never see her again, that he had allowed his mind to process the truth of how he _really_ felt about the Slayer.

 

His obsession with her had been about much more than killing her.

 

To have been bought and brought here, into her home, now that she was wealthy and powerful and held complete control over his unlife, had been infinitely confusing to him. He had accepted the fact that he had developed feelings for her, only because he had thought that he would never again have an opportunity to have to face her or those feelings.

 

Now, he was going to have to face her. Every day. All day.

 

Only, he thought as he silently observed the pensive girl, standing by the window gazing through the gap in the drawn curtains…this did not even seem to be the same person. He studied the fine lines of her face, illuminated by the glow of the sunlight on her skin.  Physically, everything was the same; she was perhaps a bit thinner.

 

And everything else was different.

 

The power, the vitality that had animated her and held him fascinated with her from the moment he had first seen her, dancing in the Bronze nearly eight years before, had vanished. That happy, carefree girl, so sure of herself and her abilities, who had managed to kill two master vampires and cripple a third – namely him – seemed to have vanished.

 

In her place was a fading, listless creature who was quiet and submissive…and very, very sad.

 

He found himself once again longing for the return of the Slayer he had known, wishing that Buffy could somehow find again the confidence that had been ripped away from her, shredded to bits and stomped under the feet of her calloused, cold husband. He realized with surprise that he would actually prefer Buffy angry and violent to Buffy wounded and damaged.

 

The only glimpse of her former self that he had seen since he had been here was in the moments when he had thought she was about to punish him – in the moments before she had broken down.

 

She looked up suddenly, startled, having just realized that he was in the room with her, and he found himself feeling utterly self-conscious and nervous – and not just nervous in the sense of hoping that his powerful mistress didn’t decide to stake him in place of her cheating husband.

 

Nervous in the sense of hoping desperately that he looked halfway decent and didn’t do or say anything stupid because she was looking at him right then, and...

 

_Bloody hell_ , he thought as those deep, emerald eyes met his. _She’s so bloody beautiful_.

 

Immediately he cursed himself for the thought. He had come to terms long ago with the fact that he had feelings for the Slayer, and in her absence had managed to push those feelings aside, understanding that they could never be fulfilled in any way, to forget them in a sense.

 

Now would not be a good time to remember.

 

“Hey,” she said softly, much more familiarity in her tone than a mistress should have held for her slave. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

He shrugged slightly, holding her gaze with his piercing sapphire eyes – eyes that seemed to see so much more than she wanted anyone to know. “Vampire,” he replied matter-of-factly.

 

She just looked at him for a moment, her sad, serious expression not changing, and he wondered what she had been thinking about. “Shouldn’t matter. Not with me,” she pointed out, her voice low and quiet, and he knew that she was right. The Slayer should have been able to sense a vampire’s presence, without having to see or hear him.

 

She lowered her eyes, and he found his own gaze drawn downward to a small object she held in her hands. It was a small silver picture frame, and he was suddenly terribly curious to see the picture it held. Hesitantly, raising his eyes to hers in a question, he took a step toward her.

 

“Are you…are you all right, love?” he asked her gently, seeking her eyes, heedless of the impropriety of it and the pet name that he could not help but use. _Sod G.I. Git and his bloody orders!_

 

Buffy looked back up at him, a sort of puzzled, confused expression in her green eyes, shining with unshed tears, as if she was trying to decide something. Finally, she looked back down at the picture in her hands, and he thought that she had shut him out…until she spoke.

 

“I wonder what they’re doing right now,” she said softly, staring at the picture as a single tear slid down her cheek and landed on the glass, and she absently rubbed it away with her thumb, leaving a faint smudge in its place.

 

Cautiously, still fearful of overstepping his bounds, Spike drew closer to her, holding out a tentative hand toward the picture. He was rewarded when Buffy held it out to him, glancing up at him as he studied the image reflected there – an image from her history, that might as well have been from his as well, for the memories it brought back to him.

 

It was the Slayer, younger and happier, laughing at some then moments old joke, her eyes turned away from the camera, toward Xander, who was caught in the moment of speaking, his dark eyes dancing with some shared joke. Buffy’s arm was slung casually around her other best friend at the time, Willow, the cute little redhead who had always been so sweet and kind, even when he had been threatening her.

 

Well, except for that bit where she hit him with the lamp. But that was understandable.

 

Spike looked back up at Buffy, his eyes large and solemn. “What happened to them?” he asked softly, almost reverently, in respect for the pain she was obviously feeling. Although the Slayer had been strengthened by her friends, Spike had always thought that eventually, her choosing to have them so close to her slaying would have consequences. He only wondered what sort of evil had claimed their lives.

 

Buffy stared at the picture for a moment, blinking back tears, sniffling. “I don’t know,” she replied with a helpless shrug. “We – we don’t speak anymore.”

 

He frowned, confused, looking back at the picture. Suddenly, with a flash of realization, he looked back up at her, wide-eyed, and took an apprehensive step away from her before asking his next question.

 

“Was it – was it _my_ fault, pet?”

 

“What?” Buffy looked up at him, confused herself for a moment before she understood what he was talking about. “Oh, that,” she dismissed his question with a wave of her hand, laughing a little through her tears. “No, we got over that before we stormed the Initiative. It’d take…” She paused, her shaky half-smile fading, and her lower lip trembling with the onset of more tears, “it _took_ more than that to split us up.”

 

He was quiet for a moment, trying to decide what was his best course of action. He had clearly caught Buffy in a vulnerable moment, lonely and aching for her lost friends. It only stood to reason that she would want to talk, and he was only too willing to allow her to do it.

 

Provided she didn’t stake him for it later, when her emotions were back under control.

 

He was well aware that behaving in such a personal manner with his mistress could get him into serious trouble. Buffy was already suspicious of his motives – thanks to his brilliant little speech to Velvet in the basement. He looked back up at her, searching her eyes intently for some clue as to the best course of action.

 

In an instant, he made up his mind. The feelings he had grudgingly admitted years ago seemed to have returned full force, and he simply could not bear to see her pain and not attempt to do _something_ about it.

 

“What _did_?” he asked quietly, cautiously. “Split you up?”

 

She looked back up at him, an odd light in her eyes, as if seeing something in him that puzzled her, and trying to figure it out. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he saw her eyes harden, and she took the picture frame back from his hand, turning away from him and straightening her shoulders as she replaced it on her dresser.

 

“It was a long time ago,” she said shortly, steeling her trembling voice as she swiped roughly at her tears. “I don’t really want to talk about it. And frankly, it’s none of your business.”

 

He was quiet, afraid to speak now, with her sudden shift in demeanor, and just stood there, waiting for her command.

 

She turned back toward him, her jaw set in desperate determination, as she met his eyes again, with that same odd sense of defiance, as if _he_ held some power over _her_ that she should defy – when reality was quite the opposite.

 

He was terribly torn, sensing that she had been on the verge of actually opening up to him, actually talking to him about her pain, and had shut down because of…what?

 

Fear?

 

Pride?

 

All he knew was that, really, the best thing for her would have been to go ahead and talk about the painful past that clearly still haunted her. Yet, fighting not to do speak up and surely get himself punished, he stood there in silence as she went on.

 

“Your place is not to ask me personal questions about private matters. Your place is not to sit here and pretend to care and act like some kind of shrink for me, okay?” she snapped, anger beginning in her eyes, anger that he knew stemmed from her realization of just how vulnerable she had allowed herself to be in front of him, even if only for a few moments. “Your place,” she went on firmly. “is to be here to do what I need. That’s all.”

 

He stood there for a moment in silence, engaged in a secret inner battle. Finally, he looked suddenly up at her, blue eyes blazing into hers as he replied in a voice of quiet surety.

 

“What if that _is_ what you need?”


	9. Chapter 9

Buffy was stunned almost as much by the fact that he had dared utter the question as she was by the question itself. She turned slowly to look at him, her red-rimmed eyes wide and her trembling mouth open a little in disbelief. After all that had happened between them already, in spite of her failure to actually beat him the day before, she was still surprised that he had the nerve to argue or talk back to her at all.  
  
And angry that he was quite possibly right in doing so.  
  
“What did you say?” she demanded, taking a threatening step toward him, her voice angry, her eyes narrowed.  
  
Spike did not back down.  
  


“I asked you,” he said, his voice soft but his tone unrelenting as he met her eyes bravely and went on. “What if that *is* what you need? What if you just need someone to be here and listen while you talk about all this? I’m here to serve your needs, right? Whatever you need? And you clearly need to deal with this, because it’s bloody tearing you up inside!”

His deep, expressive blue eyes were earnest and pleading as they searched hers, and suddenly she felt that he saw straight through her façade of strength and power that had protected the Slayer from so much pain, straight through to the broken, needy girl beneath it that still felt every single hurt.

And it infuriated her.

“How dare you try to tell me what I need?” she replied, her voice low and trembling with pain and rage, as she swiftly closed the distance between them, her fists clenched at her sides and her green eyes blazing with fury. “You don’t know a *thing* about me or my life, Spike!”

“I may not know much,” he said softly, his eyes downcast now under the power of her advance, his tone and demeanor more cautious now, although he valiantly pressed on. “But I know that those two in that picture meant everything to you, and the girl I knew before wouldn’t have let *anything* come between her and them.” He paused, before venturing on, “I think…”

His words were cut off by a powerful backhand slap across his face, that rocked him back a couple of steps.

“What you *think*,” Buffy seethed, quickly moving into the space his movement had created between them, “does *not* matter! I don’t need you to psycho-analyze me and tell me what’s wrong with my life, Spike! Look at yours! I *don’t* need you, Spike! I *never* need you!”

She stood there, right in his face, her eyes gleaming with angry tears, trembling uncontrollably with the release of her rage. His words had struck too close to home for her comfort, and a part of her that was tired of holding back her painful emotions refused to let him continue. *Him*, she *could* keep from hurting her!

Spike just stood there for a few moments, not moving an inch, not even daring to turn his head back around to face her. His mind was screaming at him for caution, retreat, not to push her any further. Here was the repressed rage that he had feared would cause Buffy to break her determination as to how she intended to treat him – and she already had. That last slap had been no token blow to demonstrate her authority; she was simply furious.

He knew that her anger was not really directed at him. Really, even his words, though not really his “place” to speak, were nothing that should have upset her so deeply. No, the fury she was displaying was aimed at someone much closer to her, someone who had hurt her more deeply than he ever had.

And that made his situation of the moment just that much more dangerous. A wiser man would have just shut up right then and went into damage-control mode, trying to calm her and somehow ride out this storm of his own creation with as little actual pain as possible.

Spike had never been a very wise man.

“Then why am I here?” The softly but intently spoken question took Buffy aback a little.

She stood there for a moment, staring at him in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing several times as she tried and failed to come up with an answer. Then, suddenly, her defenses were in place again, with a vengeance, and she leaned in closer to him, her eyes narrowed dangerously, as she drew nearer to him in an intimidating way.

His voice little more than a whisper, his downcast eyes not seeing the dangerous light in her eyes, Spike added, “What do you want me to do?”

She was close enough to him to clearly hear his words, and the gentle compassion in his soft, low voice – and for a moment she wondered if he could be sincere. Could he possibly really care about the hurt and vulnerability she had foolishly allowed him to see?

*No,* she told herself firmly, fighting back her surprising desire to believe him, as the memory of his mocking words in the basement came back to her with a fresh wave of indignant anger. *It’s just an act. A very good – convincing – act that makes me want to throw myself into his arms right now – but an evil, conniving *act*. That’s all.*

Well, she would teach him right now, once and for all, not to play games with her.

She was in a position to always win.

“What do you want *me* to do, Spike?” she threw the question back at him, and though her suddenly softer tone was distracting, he did not miss the way she avoided answering it herself. As she spoke she gave him a taunting, hard little push, backing him up a few steps, then closing in to repeat the action as she went on, her tone sarcastic and mocking, “Do you want me to break down in tears and sob and pour out my whole heart to you? Tell you all about my terrible, unfaithful husband who’d rather be with cheap, vampire whores than with me?”

Her final shove put his back in contact with the wall, and he glanced up anxiously at her for a moment, wondering if she was aware of the tears that had begun to streak down her face again as she spoke. But he did not dare hold her gaze for long, looking down again and keeping his silence. He could tell that she was far from finished, and not really expecting an answer from him – yet.

She shoved him back against the wall again, hard, her soft but strong hands on his arms pinning him there as she went on with a cold, bitter smile through her tears, “You want me to turn to you for comfort in my time of need? Let you in, Spike? Let you see all my dirty little secrets and all my weaknesses, where all the sore spots are so you can just turn around and use them all against me again? Is that what you want?” she demanded, finally pausing this time to allow him to answer.

“No,” he insisted softly, an urgency in his tone. “No, that’s not what I want, Buffy…”

She slapped him again viciously, snarling in his face, “*Mistress*!”

Suddenly, he understood his mistake. Although the term of authority had seemed to bother her the day before, this little scene was about her emphasizing the distance between them – the mistake it had been for him to attempt to relate to her on a much more personal level.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, keeping his voice quiet and respectful. “I wasn’t trying to – I don’t want…”

“Why not, Spike?” she spat out the words, interrupting him so sharply that he flinched a little, pressing nearer to him in a very unsettling way, designed once again to intimidate him and remind him of her position over him – and working remarkably well, he admitted with extreme discomfort.

“You know how to ‘push all my buttons’, right?” she went on, mocking him in a tone that he recognized from a time long before this. “How to ‘get me right where you want me’?”

“I didn’t mean it like…”

Another slap silenced him, cutting off his statement before he could explain about Velvet and her goading, and suddenly all thoughts of anything else fled his mind as she pressed herself closer to him, her hand leaving his arm to rest on his hip suggestively.

“Where is it exactly that you *want* me, Spike?” she demanded, her voice lower and with a harshly triumphant note to it – as if *she* indeed had him where *she* wanted him, and had figured him out completely.

He wondered for a moment if she was not right, on both counts.

“I – I *don’t*!” he gasped, fighting his body’s natural reaction to her intimate nearness and touch, knowing that it would likely get him killed. “I mean – I wasn’t trying to – to hurt you, Bu – Mistress,” he insisted. “I swear it, I never intended to…”

“Shut up!” she commanded roughly, her tone making it clear that she did not believe a word he was saying, and he quickly obeyed.

“What do you think, Spike?” she persisted, her voice softening as her hand slowly drifted lower. “You think you can get the poor, wounded little Slayer to open herself up to you – turn to you for comfort from the pain…” She paused, her invasive hand at his hip sliding around just a little to the front as she met his eyes challengingly and went on, “Maybe get yourself a special ‘position’ in my house…to protect you…from…what, Spike? From this?”

She suddenly hit him again, without warning, then again as she repeated. “From this? Or maybe you think if you can work your way into my affections and my bed, get through my defenses, then I’ll keep *Riley* from hurting you? Is that it? Cause you know he wants to!”

“*No*!” he pleaded desperately, her vicious, relentless tone getting to him. “No, it’s not like that at all, I swear it!” He looked up into her tearful eyes, blazing with vengeful fury as she held her hand pulled back in preparation for another blow.

And suddenly, he understood just where she was coming from, as all of her words clicked into place in his mind.

This particular rant was not meant for him, as he had suspected, but it was not really meant for Riley, either. She was accusing him of all the things she thought that Riley’s girls were guilty of – using their charms to get into the affections of their master, thereby securing a certain level of safety, in spite of the fact that the exchange was to endure his unwelcome advances. Did she really think that of him? he wondered, with an oddly hurt feeling.

Did she really think that he would be willing to become her enslaved whore to escape punishment at her hands or the hands of her husband? Did she really believe that his concern for her was just an attempt to get into her good graces and serve his own best interests, achieve some level of protection in this unpleasant situation he had found himself in?

*Of course she does, mate,* he reminded himself, feeling suddenly quite disgusted with himself, as he realized how his foolish behavior the day before, his attempt to shut Velvet up, had placed him in this dangerous position now. *She heard it out of your own mouth, you bloody wanker, why *wouldn’t* she believe it?*

“What’s it like, then, Spike? Explain it to me!” Buffy ordered sharply, her invasive hand tightening on his leg, drawing his attention forcefully out of his thoughts and back to the present. She was glaring at him furiously, the accusation in her eyes deepening when she saw his gasp in reaction to her touch.

“I didn’t mean what I said!” he told her, fighting for control. “Those things I said to Velvet – I didn’t mean it at all. I was just trying to – I just wanted…” He hesitated, suddenly not even sure that he wanted to tell Buffy how Velvet had contributed to the situation – for several reasons.

To tell Buffy what Velvet had used to shake him up – the threat of being sexually dominated by Buffy herself, the threat that seemed so very real at this particular moment – might shock her out of this fit she had worked herself into, might save him from the direction things seemed to be headed.

Or it might infuriate her further, and result in the situation just spinning further out of control.

Then there was also the ever-present, though mostly in the background, threat of Riley. If Velvet was truly his favorite, as she had claimed, Spike did not think it would be wise to go running to Buffy with accusations against her. After all, Velvet had plenty of little offenses of *his* that she had witnessed, that she could easily take to *her* master – and certainly would, in retaliation, if he took this opportunity to get her into trouble.

“I just wanted to – to make her – to…” he tried again, but stopped, unable to find a safe explanation. “I didn’t want her to think…” He hesitated again, and then gave up, looking apprehensively up at his mistress for her reaction to his failed attempt at explanation.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, Buffy’s eyes softened a little, welling up with fresh tears, and she withdrew slightly, taking her hands off of him and taking a step backward, as a sudden understanding dawned in her eyes.

She turned away a little with a soft, sad laugh. “You were just shooting off your mouth,” she realized, shaking her head with a derisive little sound. She looked back at him, the corner of her mouth turning up in a little half-smirk that did not touch the misery in her eyes. “You were just being you. Right.” The last word was a question, though she stated it flatly – already sure of the answer.

Surprised and cautiously relieved at her sudden shift in demeanor, he let out a deep breath that he had not even realized he was holding. “Right. I s’pose I was,” he admitted quietly. In a way it was completely true.

“Like you ever *really* knew me well enough to make me do anything I didn’t want to do,” she scoffed, and though her tone was not exactly pleasant, it was softer, and he could feel the tension easing from the situation, as she took a couple of steps away from him.

The mockery in her tone was irritating to him, considering that he knew he really *had* been able to twist situations and make her behave as he had wanted, in at least one situation that he could recall – the fight with her friends right before their battle with Adam.

“Right. Certainly not. I was *never* able to manipulate you or push your buttons in *any* way,” he added, unable to keep the slight sarcasm from his tone, wondering even as he spoke why he hadn’t just kept his mouth shut instead of reminding her of the one time when he *had* done just that.

*Now you’ve done it,* he chided himself, closing his eyes and grimacing slightly as she slowly turned her head to look at him again, her eyes wide and surprised. *Just when she was calming down…you’ve set her off again.*

When he did not hear her respond, did not sense her move, for a long moment, he finally ventured to look back up at her cautiously. She was still staring at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving at his continued nerve. Her mouth opened slightly, and he was sure that she was about to launch into another round. And then, a funny thing happened – a thing he would never have expected at that moment.

Buffy laughed. A sound that started off soft and hoarse, sounding almost foreign and misplaced from her sob-ravaged throat, in the midst of her confusion and pain. But then it grew stronger, and became a fuller, richer sound, that was a tremendous relief to him to hear.

“God, you are such a smart ass!” she finally said in a voice of gentle amusement, shaking her head as she looked at him in wonder. “Doesn’t matter what anybody does to you…that never changes.” Oddly enough, there was no anger or frustration in her tone. In fact, he rather thought that he imagined a certain nostalgic affection in her voice, and her eyes as they softened on him.

And then, her words confirmed his suspicion, as she spoke again in a soft voice, surprised by her own words as she spoke them, as if she could scarcely believe herself that they were true.

“Spike…I think I’ve *missed* you!”


End file.
